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BRINK,  TEN,  BERNHARD.  Early  English 
Literature.  (To  Wiclif.)  By  Bernhard  Ten 
Brink.  Translated  from  the  German  by  Horace 
M.  Kennedy.  New  York:  Henry  Holt  &  Co., 
1883.     i2mo,  pp.  xvi,  394. 

EARLY    ENGLISH    LITERATURE.      (To 

Wiclif.)  By  Bernhard  ten  Brink.  Translated 
from  the  German  by  Horace  M.  Kennedy.  New- 
York :  Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  1883.  i2mo,  pp.  xvi, 
394. 

LITERATURE.  Early  English  Literature. 
(To  Wiclif.)  By  Bernhard  ten  Brink.  Trans- 
lated from  the  German  by  Horace  M.  Kennedy. 
New  York:  Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  1883.  i2mo.,  pp. 
xvi,  394. 

ENGLISH  LITERATURE.  Early  English 
Literature.  (To  Wiclif.)  By  Bernhard  ten 
Brink.  Translated  from  the  German  by  Horace 
M.  Kennedy.  New  York:  Henry  Holt  &  Co., 
1883.     i2mo,  pp.  xvi,  394. 


EARLY 

ENGLISH    LITERATURE 

i^TO  WICLIF) 


BY 

BERNHARD  TEN  BRINK 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GERMAN 
BY 

HORACE  M.  KENNEDY 

PROFESSOR  OF   THE   GERMAN   LANGUAGE  AND   LITERATURE   IN   THE   BROOKI-YN 
COLLEGIATE  AND   POLYTECHNIC  INSTITUTE 


{TRANSLATION  REVISED  BY  THE  AUTHOR) 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

1889 


Copyright,  18S3, 

BY 

HENRY  HOLT  &  CO 


TO 

FREDERIC  J,  FURNIVALL, 

r\E.  LEARNED  AND  DEVOTED  STUDENT  OF  THE  GREAT  POETS 

OF  HIS  NATION, 

THE  TIRELESS  AND  SUCCESSFUL  EXPLORER  OF  THEIR  WEALTH, 

AND 
GENEROUS  PROMOTER  OF  GERMAN  CO-LABOUR, 

IN  FAITHFUL  FRIENDSHIP. 


FROM  THE  PREFACE  TO  THE  ORIGINAL. 


This  work  has  a  twofold  purpose.  It  seeks,  in  gen- 
eral, to  promote  an  historical  understanding  of  Eng- 
lish literature ;  and  at  the  same  time  to  extend  this 
to  wider  circles. 

Regard  for  these  "wider  circles,"  whose  interest  I 
hope  to  gain  in  a  subject  certainly  not  unworthy  of 
it,  has  excluded  from  my  book  much  that  will  be 
missed  by  the  student,  and  even  some  things  which 
will  be  regretted  by  the  master. 

The  beginner  needs  a  guide  in  the  labyrinth  of  lit- 
erature concerning  literature ;  such  a  guide  is  not 
offered  him  here.  The  scholar  will  wish  to  know  the 
proofs  supporting  the  views  presented,  and  will  not 
always  find  his  wishes  satisfied. 

I  hope  to  meet  both  requirements  in  a  special  bro- 
chure with  the  title.  Manual  to  the  History  of  Eng- 
lish Literature,  which,  while  most  closely  following 
the   account  here   given,   will   form    an   independent 

whole,  intelligible  in  itself 

THE  AUTHOR, 
Sfrassburg,  i,  E.,  March,  1877. 


TRANSLATOR'S  NOTE. 


In  submitting  this  work  to  English  readers,  it  is  proper 
that  I  should  indicate  the  nature  of  the  revision  which 
the  author  has  consented  to  make,  and  which  can 
scarcely  fail  to  render  it  more  valuable.  While  leav- 
ing the  body  of  the  book  substantially  unchanged,  he 
has  not  disregarded  the  suggestions  of  critics  nor  ig- 
nored the  results  of  recent  investigation.  Hence 
some  passages  have  been  modified,  a  number  of  foot- 
notes have  been  added,  and  an  Appendix  touching  in 
detail  various  points  of  controversy,  has  been  pre- 
pared. The  English  of  the  Appendix  is  the  author's 
own,  written  at  first  hand  to  save  the  labour  of  trans- 
lation. 

I  would  acknowledge  my  grateful  indebtedness  to 
the  author  for  the  acute  and  learned  criticisms  with 
which  he  has  aided  my  own  work  of  translation ;  but 
as  I  have  had  final  oversight  on  all  points  bearing 
upon  the  translation,  as  such,  it  is  only  just  to  add 
that  the  author  must  not  be  held  accountable  for  its 
faults. 


VIU  TRANSLATORS    NOTE. 

Like  the  original,  this  volume  will  be  found  to  con- 
tain a  large  number  of  extracts,  in  prose  and  verse, 
from  Old  and  Early  English  authors.  These  have, 
without  exception,  been  translated  from  the  original 
texts  into  modern  English.  In  rendering  the  poetical 
passages  cited,  I  have  tried  to  reproduce  the  ancient 
metre  and  tone. 

HORACE  M.  KENNEDY. 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK  I. 

BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

I. — Original  Home  of  the  English.  Legend  of  Beowa.  Pred- 
atory Excursions.  The  English  in  Britain.  Kingdoms  of  the 
Jutes,  Saxons,  and  Angles.  Kingship.  Significance  of  the 
Comitatus.     Teutonic  Deities, i_S 

II. — State  of  English  Culture,  Influence  of  Romans  and 
Celts.  English  Language.  Runes.  Oral  Tradition.  The 
Glee-men.  Widsith.  National  Poetry.  Hymnic  Poetry 
among  the  Teutonic  Peoples.  Development  of  the  Epic. 
Epic  Songs.  Growth  of  an  Epos  among  the  English  Tribes. 
This  Growth  not  quite  Complete.  Epic  Style.  Epic  Meas- 
ure,      8-23 

HI. — Development  of  Epic  Poetry  Gradual.  The  Saga  of  Beo- 
wulf and  the  Beowa-myth.  Origin  of  the  Epos  of  Beowulf 
among  the  English  Tribes  in  Britain.  Beowulf  in  Writing. 
Theme  and  Characteristics  of  Beowulf.  The  Battle  of  Finns  • 
burg, .       23-32 

IV. — Christianity  among  the  English  Tribes.  Religious  En- 
thusiasm. Church  and  Culture.  Importance  of  Canterbury, 
Malmesbury,  Wearmouth,  Jarrow,  York,  Aldhelm  and  Beda. 
Christian  Poetry.  Its  Relation  to  the  National  Epos.  Leg- 
f  end  of  Caedmon.  Caedmon's  Hymn.  The  Elder  Genesis. 
Perhaps  a  Work  of  the  same  Poet.  Contents  and  Style  of 
the  Genesis,  Exodus,  Daniel,  Judith.     Metrical  License  of 

\  the  Religious  Poets,     ....      — ; -*.        .  32-48 

"^ — Vr==i,egends  of  the  Saints  in  Verse.  Religious  Lyrics.  Psalms, 
Prayers.  Latin  Homiletic  Literature.  Animal  Symbolism. 
Fragment  of  an  Old  English  Fhysiologus.  Cynewulf.  His 
Riddles.  His  Vision  of  the  Cross.  YVvs,  Christ,  Descent  into  ^ 
Hell,  Phoenix.  Guthlac^  Juliana,  Andreas,  Elene.  Cyne- 
wulf  as  Poet,         ..,,,,..  4S-59 

ix 


X  CONTENTS. 

VI. — Influence  of  Christianity  upon  the  Secular  Lyric.  Dear's 
Lament.  The  Old  English  Lyric.  The  Ruin.  The  Wan- 
derer. The  Seafarer.  The  Sentiment  of  Love  in  Old  Eng- 
lish Poetry.  Message  of  the  Husband.  Gnomic  Poetry. 
Its  Original  Form.  Later  Forms.  The  Rune-song.  For- 
mulas of  Incantation.     Pagan  and  Christian  Elements,        .       59~67 

VII. — Prominence  of  the  Anglian  Territories  in  the  Develop- 
ment of  Old  English  Poetry.  Rise  of  Wessex.  Ecgberht. 
Danish  Invasions.  Aelfred  the  Great.  His  Labours  for  the 
Promotion  of  Morals  and  Education.  Earliest  Prose  :  Laws, 
Records,  etc.  National  Annal-writing.  The  y^«;zü;/j- of  Win- 
chester. Rise  of  Historical  Writing  under  Aelfred.  Ael- 
fred as  Translator.  His  Orosius.  His  Beda.  His  Boe- 
thins.  The  Metra  of  Boethius.  Aelfred's  Gregory.  The 
Pastoral  Care.  Last  Years  of  Aelfred's  Reign.  The  Annals 
from  894  to  924, 67-83 

VIII. — Foreign  Influence  upon  English  Poetry.      The  Later 
Genesis.     The  Rhyme-song.     Native  Tradition  of  Religious 
Poetry.     The   Fallen   Angels.     Descent  and   Resurrection. 
The    Temptation   of  Christ.       Gnomic  Dialogue.       Salo??io  . 
and  Satiimus.     Decline   of    Poetic   Form.     Translation  of  jj 
Psalms.     Historical   Poetry.     The  Battle  of  Brunanburh.^ 
The  Menologium.     Byrhttioth^s  Death.     Decline  of  the  An- 
cient Verse, 83-97 

IX. — Prose.  Literature  of  Medicine  and  Natural  Science. 
Religious  Prose  of  the  Tenth  Century.  Decay  of  Monastic 
Discipline.  Dunstan  and  his  Reforms.  Aethelwold.  His 
Translation  of  the  Ride  of  St.  Benedict.  The  Homilies  of 
the  Blickling  Manuscript.  Aelfric.  The  Homiliae  catholi- 
cae.  Aelfric's  Grammatical  and  Scientific  Writings.  The 
Passiones  sanctorum.  Pastoral  Letter.  Aelfric's  Later 
Writings.  His  Agency  in  the  Growth  of  Education  and  Lit- 
erature. Wulfstan  and  his  Sermons.  Translation  of  the 
Gospels.  Translation  of  the  Evangeliu??i  AHcodemi.  Writ- 
ings in  Latin.  English  Annals.  Canterbury.  Ajtnals  of 
Worcester.  Antials  of  Abingdon.  England  just  before  the 
Conquest.  Chivalry  Prefigured.  Apollonius  of  Tyre.  The 
Wonders  of  the  Orienty 97"^  1 5 


BOOK  XL 

THE  TRANSITION   PERIOD. 

I. — The  Normans  and  Normandy.  State,  Church,  School. 
Conquest  and  Pilgrimage.  Alliance  with  the  Papacy.  Re- 
sults of  the  Conquest, 1 19-122 

II. — The  Song  of  Roland.  Influence  of  the  Normans  upon  the 
Development  of  the  French  National  Epos.     Spirit  of  the 


CONTENTS.  Xi 

Song  of  Roland.  Metre  and  Style.  Further  Development 
of  the  Epic  under  the  Influence  of  the  Crusades.  Activity 
of  the  Jongleurs.  Materials  of  the  Chanson  de  geste.  The 
Charlemagne.  Science  and  Literature  in  Anglo-Norman 
England.  Relations  with  France.  Lanfranc.  Anselm. 
Ascetic  and  Devotional  Writings.  Lives  of  Saints.  Ailred 
of  Rievaux.  Mathematics  and  Natural  History.  Athelard 
of  Bath.  Latin  Poetry.  Godfrey  of  Winchester.  Regi- 
nald of  Canterbury.  Laurence  of  Durham,  Historical 
Writing.  Norman  Historiographers.  History  among  the 
Anglo-Norman  Clergy.  Eadmer  of  Canterbury.  Ordericus 
Vitalis.  Florence  of  Worcester  and  Simeon  of  Durham. 
William  of  INIalmesbury.  Henry  of  Huntingdon.  Geoffrey 
of  Monmouth.  Stories  of  British  Kings  and  the  Arthurian 
Saga.     Alfred  of  Beverley, 122-136 

III. — Norman  Clerical  Poetry.  Philipe  de  Thaun.  His  Co7n- 
ptit  and  Bestiare.  Legend  of  St.  Brandan.  Historical  Po- 
etry. Geoffrey  Gaimar.  Wace.  His  Legends.  The  Ro- 
7nan  de  Brut.  Further  Growth  of  the  Arthurian  Saga.  The 
Roman  de  Rou.  Wace  as  Representative  of  the  Earlier  Nor- 
man Clerical  Poesy, 136-143 

IV. — The  English  Language  in  the  Background.  Final  Fort- 
unes of  the  English  Annals.  Canterbury,  Worcester,  Pe- 
terborough. Theological  and  Scientific  Prose.  Changes  in 
the  English  Language, 143-147 

V. — English  Folk-poetry.  Continued  Life  of  the  Epic  Saga. 
Mythological  Conceptions.  Woden  and  Robin.  Popular 
Heroes.  Gesta  Herewardi  Saxonis.  Sagas  of  Horn  and 
Havelok.  Guy  of  Waivjoick  and  Bevis  of  Hampton.  Wal- 
theof  Recollections  of  Aelfred.  Proverbs  of  Alfred.  De- 
velopment of  a  Short  Rhymed  Couplet  from  the  Alliterative 
Long  Line,  .         .    , 148-153 

VI. — Religious  Poetry.  New  Verse-forms.  Poema  morale. 
The  Catalectic  Tetrameter.  Explanation  of  the  Paternoster. 
The  Short  Couplet  from  a  Foreign  Model,        .         .         .  153-156 

VII. — The  Empire  of  the  Plantagenets  and  International  Cult- 
ure. Rise  of  the  Troubadours.  Poetry  of  the  Troubadours. 
Its  Spirit.  Forms  and  Varieties.  Esthetic  Character.  Lan- 
guage and  Style.  The  Earliest  Troubadours  :  Guilhem  de 
Poitiers,  Cercalmon,  Marcabru,  Jaufre  Rudel.  Bernart  de 
Ventadorn.  Relations  with  the  Court  of  the  Plantagenets. 
Bertran  de  Born.  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion.  Effect  upon 
Northern  France.  The  North- French  Lyric  compared  with 
the  Proven9al.  Districts  in  which  the  Former  Especially 
Flourished.     The  Art-lyric  among  the  Anglo-Normans,      .   156^5164 

VIII. — Development  of  the  French  Art-epic.  Foreign  Mate- 
rials.   The  Sa.ga.  of  A lexander.    Fsendo- Calllsthenes.    Julius 


XU  CONTENTS. 

Valerius.  The  Archpresbyter  Leo.  Alberic  of  Besan9on. 
Lambert  the  Crooked  and  Alexander  of  Paris.  VirgiUs 
yEneid  and  its  Renderers.  The  Troy-saga.  Dares  and  Dic- 
tys.  New  Elements  in  Dares.  Joseph  of  Exeter.  Benoit 
de  Sainte  More.  Episode  of  Troilus  and  Briseida.  Character 
of  Benoit.  Romance  of  Adventure.  Late  Greek  and  By- 
zantine Materials.  Celtic  Materials.  Further  Development 
of  the  Arthurian  Legend.  The  Graal-saga.  Its  Antece- 
dents. The  Legend  of  Joseph  of  Arimathea.  Le  petit  saint 
Graal.  Le  grand  saint  Graal.  La  qneste  del  saint  Graal. 
Crestien  de  Troyes's  Coiite  del  Graal.  Wolfram's  Parzival. 
The  Tristan-saga.  Form,  Style,  and  Spirit  of  the  Court-ro- 
mance, Crestien  de  Troyes.  The  Metrical  Tale  and  its  Va- 
rieties. Cycles  of  Material.  The  Oriental  Tale  and  the 
Manner  of  its  Circulation.  The  Book  of  the  Seven  Wise 
Masters.  The  Disciplina  clericalis.  Attitude  of  French 
Literature  toward  these  Materials.  Characteristics  of  the 
Za/,  Fabliau,  and  Dit,        .......  164-180 

IX. — Anglo-Normans  and  the  French  Art-epic.  Anglo-Nor- 
man Writers  of  Tales.  Marie  de  France.  Corruption  of  the 
Anglo-Norman  Language  and  Metre.  Historical  Poetry  un- 
der Henry  H.  Benoit's  Chronicle.  Jordan  Fantosme. 
Norman  Versions  of  English  or  Anglo-Danish  Traditions. 
Materials  from  Anglo-Norman  History.  The  Renaissance 
under  Henry  II.  Relations  to  France.  John  of  Sahsbury. 
Walter  Map.  Peter  of  Blois.  William  of  Newbury.  Ger- 
vase  of  Tilbury.  Gerald  de  Bary.  Richard  Fitz  Nigel. 
Latin  Poetry.  Alexander  Neckham.  Joseph  of  Exeter. 
Geoffrey  de  Vinsauf.  Poetry  of  the  Strollers.  Student  Life. 
Speculum  stziltomvi,  ........   180-187 

X. — Return  to  English  Literature.  La^amon.  His  Education 
and  Character.  His  Brut  and  its  Sources.  Metre,  Style, 
and  Treatment  of  Material.  Oral  Tradition.  Broadening  of 
the  Arthurian  Saga.  Lajamon's  .Esthetic  and  Historical 
Significance 187-193 

XI. — English  Literature  and  Norman-French  Influence.     Glee-'  •,  I 
men  and  Clerics.     The  Anglian  Territories.     Northeastern  V' 
Mcrcia.     Orm.       Language  and  Culture.      The    Onnulum. 
Verse  and  Style.      Orthography.     East  Anglia.     The  Bes- 
tiary.    The  Genesis.     The  Exodus,    .....   193-198 

XII. — The  Literature  of  the  South.  Alliterative  Lives  of 
Saints.  Alliterative  Homily.  Love  in  Religion.  Rise  of 
Prose.  Ancren  Riwle.  Character  of  the  Author.  Contents 
and  Plan  of  the  Work.     Style.      Wohunge  of  ure  Lauerde. 

Sawles  Warde.     Time  and  Place  of  the  Origin  of  these  Writ- '     ^ 

ings, 199-205 

XIIT. — Religious  Lyrical  Poetry.       Religious  Love.     Prayer  n 
to  the  Holy  Virgin.     Influence  of  the  Poema  morale,     Influ- 


CONTENTS.  XIU 

ence  of  French  and  Middle  Latin  Poetry.     New  Strophic 
Forms.     The  Love-song  of  Thomas  de  Hales,    .         .         .  205-211 

XIV. — Poetical  Sermon.  Satire  on  all  Classes.  Ecclesiastical 
Epic.  The  Vision  of  St.  Paul.  Proverb  Poetry.  The  Ozul 
and  the  Nightingale.  Its  Class.  Contents  and  Idea  of  the 
Poem.  Character  of  the  Author.  Relation  to  the  Religious 
Lyric, 211-218 

XV. — Growth  of  English  National  Feeling.  Fusion  of  Angles 
and  Normans.  Constitutional  Struggles  under  Henry  III. 
Simon  de  Montfort.  The  Proclamation  of  October  18,  1258. 
Political  Freedom  and  National  Prosperity,        .        .        .  218-221 


BOOK  IIL 

FROM    LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

I. — Continued  Development  of  the  English  Language.  -Influ- 
ences Favourable  to  the  Influx_ofJ[iQiaimicJBlle»iefttsr  Epic 
Poetry.  -CxDrnpariKoTrofTrance  and  England.  The  Song  of 
King  Ho7'n.  Analysis  of  the  Same.  Character  and  Place 
of  Origin.  The  Poem  of  Havelok  the  Dane.  Place  of  Ori- 
gin. Analysis  and  Characterisation.  Comparison  with  Kijtg 
Born, 225-234 

II. — Translation  of  French  Romances.  Origin,  Cultivation, 
and  Remodelling  of  such  Translations.  Floriz  and Blanche- 
flur.  Tristan  and  Isold.  Poet  of  Sir  Tristrem.  Romance 
and  Ballad.  Strophe  of  Sir  Tristrem.  ICing  Alexander. 
Richard  Ccenr  de  Lion.  Arthurian  Saga.  Romance  of 
Arthur  and  Merlin.  Saga  of  Charlemagne.  Song  of  Ro- 
land. Sire  Otuel.  Charlemagne  and  Roland.  National 
Saga.  Gtiy  of  Warwick.  Bevis  of  Hampton.  Forms  of 
the  Romance  Poesy.  The  Short  Couplet.  The  rytjie 
couee.  Court  and  Popular  Poetry.  Amis  and  Amiloun. 
The  Xing  of  Tarsus.  Sire  Degarre,  Character  of  the  Old 
English  Romance, 234-253 

III. — Romance  and  Tale.  Form  and  Contents.  Most  An- 
cient_  Materials  of  the  Tale.  French  Art-form.  English 
Poetical  Tales.  The  Fabliau  of  Dame  Siriz.  Fox  and 
Wolf  The  Animal-saga  in  England.  Variations  of  the 
Fabliau.  The  Land  of  Cokaigne.  Debate  of  the  Carpen- 
ter's Tools.  The  Lay  of  the  Ash.  Orphe7is  and  Eurydice. 
How  a  Merchant  did  his  Wife  Betray.  The  Proces  of  the 
Sevyn  Sages.  Origin  of  the  Gesta  Romanorum.  Signifi- 
cance of  the  Tale  in  the  Last  Centuries  of  the  Middle  Ages,  253-264 

IV. — Religious  Legend  Poetry.  Old  and  New  Materials.  As- 
sumption of  the  Virgin.  Childhood  of  Jesus.  Legend  of 
the  Holy  Rood.     Gregorian  Saga.     Contes  devot s.     Legends 


nV  CONTENTS. 

of  the  Virgin.  Recital  in  the  Church  of  Rh)Tned  Lives  of 
the  Saints.  Metrical  Forms  of  the  Legend  :  the  Tail-rhyme, 
the  Short  Couplet,  the  Middle  English  Alexandrine.  South- 
ern Legend-cycle.  Place  of  Origin.  Sources.  Relation  to 
Jacobus  a  Voragine.  Scope  and  Characteristics  of  the  Cycle 
of  Legends.  Superstition  and  Criticism.  Role  of  the  Devil. 
Legends  of  St,  Diinstan,  St.  Christopher^  St.  Michael.  De- 
monology.  Cosmology.  St.  Brandan.  English  National 
Saints.  Thomas  of  Canterbury.  Judas  and  Pilate.  Style  of 
the  Cycle  of  Legends.  National  Historiography,  Robert  of 
Gloucester.  His  Chronicle.  Its  Contents  and  Sources.  Style. 
Robert's  Patriotism.  The  Description  of  England.  Robert's 
Relation  to  the  Norman  Conquest  and  to  the  Civil  War 
\mder  Henry  HI.  Robert  and  the  Cycle  of  Legends.  Re- 
vival of  Interest  in  National  History,  ....  264-3^ 

V. — The  Sermon  and  the  Religious  Metrical  Tract.  Materials 
and  Sources.  Forms.  Fusion  of  Lyrical  and  Didactic  Ele- 
ments. William  de  Shoreham  and  his  Poems.  Kentish 
Prose.  Homilies.  Dan  Michel  and  the  Ayenbite  of  Inwyt. 
Connection  with  the  more  Ancient  Southern  Prose,     .         .  280-285 

VI. — The  Northern  Territories.  Northumbria  and  French 
Culture.  Religious  Poetry  in  Northumbria.  Metrical  Form 
and  Style.  The  Cursor  niundi.  Contents.  Sources.  Style. 
Northumbrian  Cycle  of  Homilies.  Northumbrian  Cycle  of 
Legends.  Richard  of  Hampole.  His  Life  and  Character. 
His  Theological  Tendencies.  His  Works.  De  iiiceiidio 
affiaris.  Richard  and  Margaret  Kirkby.  The  Prick  of  Con- 
science. Robert  Mannyng.  His  Character.  Compared  vc\i\\ 
Robert  of  Gloucester.  Mannyng's  Handlytig  Synne.  His 
Rhymed  Chronicle.  The  Line  between  Fable  and  History 
Obliterated.  Verse  and  Style  of  Mannyng's  Chronicle. 
Mannyng's  Influence  upon  Language  and  Literature,  .  285-303 

VII. — The  Lyric.  The  Itinerant  Clerks.  Blending  of  Lan- 
guages. English  Songs.  Diverse  Influences.  Influence  of 
the  Folk-song.  Cuckoo  Song.  Character  of  the  Erotic  Songs 
of  the  Clerics.  Various  Types  of  Poets.  Poem  in  Dialogue. 
Song  to  Alysoun.  Poetical  Debate.  The  Thrush  ajid 
Nightingale.  Influence  of  the  Secular  upon  the  Religious 
Lyric.  Relation  to  Nature.  Song  of  Repentance.  Winter 
Song.  Easter  Song.  Religious  Songs  in  Dialogue.  Prov- 
erb Poetry.     Proverbs  of  Hendyng,   .....  302-314 

VIII.— Political  Lyric.  Ballad  Poetry.  Battle  of  Lewes. 
Battle  of  Courtrai.  Wars  with  the  Scots.  Execution  of  Sir 
Simon  Fräser.  Style  and  Metre  of  the  Ballads.  Social  Sat- 
ire. Ballad  on  the  Servants  of  the  Great.  Satire  in  the 
Hands  of  the  Clerics.  Song  on  the  Corruption  and  Slavery 
of  the  Church.  Song  of  the  Husbandman.  Religious  Tri- 
bunal. Women's  Love  of  Dress.  Kego,  dubitOy  concedo. 
Satire  on  all  Classes.     Dirge  on   the   Death  of  Edward  I. 


CONTENTS.  XV 

Lament  of  the  Captive  Knight.  Visions  of  Adam  Davy. 
Laurence  Minot  and  his  Ballads.  Metre  and  Style.  Close 
of  Book  Third, 314-324 

BOOK  IV. 

PRELUDE  TO  the'  REFORMATION  AND  THE  RENAISSANCE. 

I. — -The  Anglo-Norman  at  the  Middle  of  the  Fourteenth  Cent- 
ury. English  Language  and  Literature.  English  National 
Spirit.  Revival  of  Alliterative  Poetry.  West-English  Ro- 
mances. Their  General  Characteristics.  Romance  of  the 
Holy  Graal.  Fragments  of  a  Romance  oi  Alexander.  Will- 
iam of  Falerne, 327-33S 

II. — ^Lancashire.  The  Adventures  of  Arthur  at  Tarn  Wad- 
ling.  The  Poet  of  the  Sir  Gawayne  and  the  Green  Knight. 
Analysis  of  the  Romance.  Estimate  of  the  Poet's  Art.  Po- 
em of  The  Pearl.  Its  Form  and  Relation  to  more  Ancient 
West-English  Poems.     Clamtesse  and  Facience,  .         .  336-351 

III. — William  Langland.  His  Life.  Langland  and  Hampole. 
Langland  and  Dante.  His  Sources  of  Culture  and  his  Fore- 
runners. The  Vision  concerning  Piers  Plozvman.  Vision 
of  Do-well.  Interruption  and  Continuation.  Second  Revi- 
sion of  the  Poem.  Do-well,  Do-bet,  and  Do-best.  Inter- 
pretation of  the  Allegory.  Third  Revision.  Poetical  and 
Religious  Allusions.  Langland  and  Wiclif.  Langland's 
Place  in  English  Literature, 35l~367 


APPENDIX. 

Note  A — ^The  Poems  Ascribed  to  Caedmon,  ,        .        .  371-386 

B — Cynewulf's  Life  and  Works, 386-389 

C — Asser's  Life  of  Aelfred  and  the  Winchester  Annals,  389 

D — The  Works  of  King  Aelfred,  ....  390 

E — Wulfstan's  Homilies,      ......  390 

F — Genesis  and  Exodus, 391 

G — The  Legends  of  St.  Katherine,  St.  Margaret,  and 

St,  Juliana,  and  the  Homily  on  Hali  Meidenhad,        392 
H — The  Date  of  the  English  Song  of  Roland,      .        .  392 


BOOK  I. 

BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

Longaö  ])onne  ^y  Ises,  J)e  him  con  leöÖa  worn 

oööe  mid  liondum  con  hearpan  gretan, 

hafaö  him  his  gliwes  giefe,  J^e  him  god  sealde. 

Gnomica  Exon.  III.,  17a 


EARLY  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


I. 

AFTER  the  settlement  of  the  English  tribes  on  British 
soil,  some  time  passed  before  English  literature  began. 
Yet  literary  monuments  are  not  lacking  which,  to  judge  from 
their  substance,  are  descended  from  a  pre-literary  age,  and 
point  back  to  an  epoch  when  the  Teutonic  conquerors  of 
Britain,  either  wholly  or  partially,  still  inhabited  their  earlier 
home.  Dim  and  varying  is  the  light  which  these  most 
ancient  products  of  the  English  muse  shed  upon  the  original 
abode  and  the  incipient  political,  and  race-relations  of  the 
later  Englishman.  There  appear  distinctly,  however,  in  these 
poem's  the  genius  and  the  manners  of  a  race  who  ploughed  the 
sea;  who  loved  booty  and  strife;  and  whose  intoxication 
was  the  hero's  fame  that  flowed  in  the  mead-hall  from  the 
glee-man's  lips. 

According  to  the  testimony  of  history  as  well  as  of  saga, 
the  original  home  of  the  English  was  the  Cimbrian  peninsula, 
and  the  adjacent  portion  of  the  mainland,  eastward  from 
the  Elbe.  Here  dwelt  the  several  small  tribes  into  which 
this  people  were  divided :  in  the  north  were  the  Jutes ; 
and  next  to  them,  the  Angles,  whose  name  the  point  of 
land  between  the  Fiord  of  Flensburg  and  the  Slei  still  pre- 
serves; farther  southward  the  Saxon  prevailed  over  a  wide 
region.  They  were  an  ambitious,  enterprising  race,  steeled 
by  a  ceaseless  struggle  with  the  sea,  whose  proximity  often 
became  a  terror  to  them :  a  terror  chiefly  in  the  spring,  and 
on  the  approach  of  autumn,  when,  under  the  pressure  of 
fierce  storms,  the  billows  surged  with  resistless,  destroying 

B  I 


2  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

power  upon  the  low  coasts.  Wearisome  and  relentless  was 
the  sway  of  the  winter,  which  bound  the  flood  in  its  "ice- 
fetters."  So  that  the  coming  of  summer,  when  the  mild 
winds  blew  from  the  sea,  and  the  waters  gleamed  graciously 
again  in  the  sunbeams,  was  like  a  deliverance. 

In  such  a  land  developed  the  myth  of  Beowa,  the  divine 
hero  who  overcame  the  sea-giant,  Grendel,  and  fighting  the 
fire-spitting  dragon, — also  a  personification  of  the  raging  sea 
— slew  and  was  slain.  But  Beowa  did  not  remain  forever 
dead.  He  is  essentially  Frea  in  a  new  form,  the  bright  god 
of  warmth  and  fruitfulness,  whose  gold-bristled  boar  decked 
the  helmets  of  the  English  warriors. 

Nor  was  the  struggle  waged  only  against  the  elements. 
The  Angles,  Saxons  and  Jutes  were  often  at  war  with  each 
other,  or  with  neighbouring  tribes.  In  the  spring  when  the 
storms  were  stilled,  the  sea  enticed  to  expeditions  of  war  or 
rapine.  The  ocean  was  then  a  friendly  element  in  spite  of 
its  terrors;  and  the  sea-farers  committed  themselves  to  the 
ship,  to  the  "  sea-courser,"  to  the  "  sea-wood,"  which,  "  like 
a  bird  foam-necked,"  glided  away  upon  the  "  course  of  the 
swans,"  the  "path  of  the  whales."  Not  far  distant  were  the 
Danish  islands,  and  the  coasts  of  Scandinavia.  -  They  ven- 
tured out  upon  the  North  Sea,  and  followed  the  German 
coast  to  the  mouth  of  the  Rhine,  where  Roman  territory  be- 
gan. Oftentimes  they  continued  their  daring  cruise  along 
the  shore  where  Belgic  and  Gallic  tribes  lived  under  Roman 
rule.  There  Britain  was  visible,  thrusting  her  brilliant  chalk- 
cliffs  out  toward  the  coast  of  Gaul.  It  was  deemed  a  pros- 
perous land,  rich  in  herds,  a  land  bound  to  Gaul  by  an  an- 
cient community  of  race  and  sacerdotal  mysteries.  The 
strange  figures  of  legend  haunted  the  channel  between  island 
and  mainland.  Muffled  voices  were  heard  at  night  on  the 
Armorican  coast,  when  the  ferr)'man  of  the  dead  turned  his 
overladen  boat  toward  the  opposite  shore. 

Britain  had  been  subject  to  Rome  since  the  days  of  Agri- 
cola.  Roman  highways  intersected  the  country;  a  number 
of  cities  with  temples,  baths,  colonnades,  had  sprung  up,  in 
which  the  proud  language  of  the  conqueror  was  heard. 
Here,  as  in  Gaul,  the  German  sea-robber's  love  of  plunder 
was  stronger  than  his  fear  of  the  Roman  name.  In  the 
course  of  the  fourth  century,  the  Saxons  made  more  than 


THE  ENGLISH  IN  BRITAIN.  3 

one  inroad  upon  the  British  coast.  Fear  seized  the  native 
Britons,  as  it  did  their  Roman  conquerors.  The  imperial 
power,  threatened  also  in  the  north  by  Celtic  barbarians, 
gathered  new  strength  when  Theodosius,  an  energetic  gov- 
ernor, came  to  Britain.  The  attacks  of  the  Saxons  were 
warded  off;  the  Picts  and  Scots  were  thrust  back  to  the 
Forth.  But  it  was  like  the  last  flare  of  a  light  before  ex- 
tinguishment. At  the  beginning  of  the  fifth  century,  the 
Germanic  world  burst  with  might  upon  the  Roman  empire. 
Rome  herself  was  pillaged  by  the  West-Goths.  The  legions 
stationed  in  Britain  were  called  back.  The  Britons  now  had 
nothing  save  their  own  strength  to  meet  the  dangers  threat- 
ened by  Picts  and  Scots,  as  well  as  by  the  Teutonic  bar- 
barians. 

The  great  migratory  movement  which  had  included  nearly 
all  the  Germanic  peoples,  now  carried  the  English  with  it, 
no  longer  single  bands  and  retinues,  but  entire  tribes.  A 
strong  tide  of  immigration  from  the  Cimbrian  peninsula  and 
the  mouth  of  the  Elbe  began  to  spread  over  Britain,  es- 
pecially toward  the  middle  of  the  century.  Commencing 
at  the  southeast  extremity  of  the  island,  the  immigrants 
seized,  in  the  lapse  of  a  century,  a  greater  part  of  the 
southern  coast,  and  the  eastern  coast  as  far  as  the  Forth. 

The  farther  the  Teutons  advanced,  the  stronger  was  the 
resistance  they  met.  The  Roman  armies  had  indeed  left 
Britain ;  the  Britons  had  lost  through  the  foreign  regime  a 
part  of  their  original  strength.  But  what  remained  to  them 
was  roused  to  the  uttermost  by  hate  and  desperation.  The 
Celtic  element,  which,  outside  of  the  cities,  had  well  nigh 
preserved  its  vitaHty,  gathered  itself  with  new  energy  against 
the  Teuton ;  and  sometimes  in  the  conflict  with  Germanic 
paganism,  the  native  religion  again  broke  through  the  vesture 
of  Christianity.  The  struggle  was  bloody  and  hard-fought, 
especially  •  where  the  English  encountered  fortified  cities 
which  they  could  not  take  without  long  effort,  ov»'ing  to  im- 
perfect science  of  war.  A  large  number,  after  being  stormed, 
were  left  in  ashes;  the  sword  of  the  victor  raged  pitiless, 
often  against  the  defenceless. 

There  was  as  little  lack  of  heroic  leaders  among  the  Britons 
as  among  the  English.  Many  of  their  names  are  commemo- 
rated in  the  Welsh  bardic  songs,  whose  ürofessed  antiquity, 


4  6EF0RE  THE  CONQUEST. 

it  is  true,  cannot  defend  them  against  the  suspicion  of  being, 
at  least  in  part,  patriotic  fictions.  Later  chronicles,  still 
more  legendary  than  these  songs,  lavish  on  the  name  of 
Arthur  all  the  glory  which  is  wont  to  invest  the  forms  of 
mighty  rulers  and  heroes  of  chivalry.  And  through  him  it 
gives  rise  to  an  apocryphal  Charlemagne  for  the  Celtic 
world. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  sixth  century,  more  than  the  en- 
tire eastern  half  of  the  country  between  the  Channel  and  the 
Frith  of  Forth  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Germans.  Several 
small  states  were  formed,  whose  number  and  boundaries  were 
often  changed.  Some  among  them,  however,  became  prom- 
inent through  their  more  tenacious  vitality  and  power. 
There  was  the  little  Jute  kingdom  of  Kent,  which  compre- 
hended the  earliest  civilised  part  of  Britain,  and  was  des- 
tined to  foster  the  embryo  of  the  English  Rome.  Next 
to  Kent,  northward  and  eastward,  lay  the  kingdoms  of  the 
East  and  the  South-Saxons,  adjacent  to  Sussex,  the  realm 
of  the  West-Saxons,  to  whom  the  task  had  fallen  of  defend- 
ing the  Saxon  boundary  against  the  Celts,  and  of  extend- 
ing it.  The  West-Saxons  soon  absorbed  the  smaller  Jutish 
setdements  established  in  their  territory.  Further  northward 
were  the  Anglian  kingdoms :  East-Anglia,  north  of  Essex ; 
Bcrnicia,  between  the  Forth  and  the  Tees ;  and  later,  Deira, 
between  the  Tees  and  the  Humber.  Of  these  the  last  two 
states  sometimes  appear  as  independent,  and  sometimes  as 
togethec  forming  a  Northumbrian  kingdom.  The  territory 
of  the  ^liddle-Angles,  south  of  the  Hum.ber,  was  the  nucleus 
of  the  later  Mcrcia,  which  grew  at  the  common  expense  of 
the  neighbouring  states,  especially  of  Strathclyde,  Wales,  and 
WessexÄpd  became  the  largest  of  the  Germanic  kingdoms 
in  Brit^l  embracing  nearly  all  of  the  Midland  country. 
Oftentimes  the  Mercian  king  also  ruled  little  Middlesex 
with  its  powerful  London,  which  was  at  other  times  a  sort  of 
municipal  republic. 

Nearly  all  these  English  kingdoms  were  formed  by  the 
union  of.  smaller  tracts,  gradually  occupied  by  bands  of  war- 
like settlers.  On  their  blending  into  gre'ater  unity,  these 
original  districts  often  retained  their  boundaries  as  shires 
(sar)  of  the  newly  formed  kingdom ;  while  their  head  still 
bore  the  name  of  €aldor7nan  (prince,  lord),  a  title  by  ^'hich 


KINGSHIP.  5 

the  German  chieftains  were  designated  at  their  first  appear- 
ance in  Britain.  The  prince,  however,  who  stood  at  the 
head  of  the  united  shires  was  made  king. 

This  introduction  of  the  kingly  office,  an  old  Teutonic 
institution,  though  one  which  had  not  implanted  itself  in  all 
the  German  tribes,  was  the  most  weighty  modification  under- 
gone by  the  constitutional  life  of  the  English  race  in  conse- 
quence of  its  establishment  in  Britain.  In  other  respects 
the  main  political  forms  of  the  mother-country  were  retained. 
They  could  be  easily  transplanted  from  one  soil  to  the  other ; 
for  they  corresponded  to  the  military  divisions  of  the  body 
armed  for  common  defence ;  and  like  it,  they  were  originally 
founded  upon  the  natural  division  of  families  and  clans. 
Hence  in  England  we  find  the  same  partition  of  the  soil,  the 
same  confederation  of  shires,  or  hundreds,  and  communities, 
as  in  Germany ;  and  the  same  social  grades ;  viz. :  nobles 
{eof'las),  freemen  [ceorlas),  serfs,  and  slaves.  That  institu- 
tion also  is  not  wanting  which,  from  the^  vivid  portrayal  of 
Tacitus,^  seems  to  have  been  especially  Teutonic,  but  which 
contained  the  germ  of  a  complete  dissolution  of  Teutonic 
democracy :  the  Comitatus. 

The  prince,  especially  when  conspicuous  in  position  and 
courage,  was  surrounded  by  a  body  of  young  men  of  rank 
who  had  committed  themselves  to  his  personal  service.  They 
were  his  companions,  his  thegns  ( \egHas,  knaves,  servants). 
As  it  was  their  highest  aim  to  gain  the  first  place  in  his  ret- 
inue, so  was  it  honourable  for  the  lord  to  have  a  large  fol- 
lowing of  gallant  youths.  In  peace  they  added  to  his  pomp ; 
in  war,  they  were  a  means  of  defence  and  a  source  of  fame. 
It  was  their  most  sacred  duty  to  guard  his  hfe^i  battle ; 
nothing  was  deemed  more  disgraceful  than  to  fB^ake  the 
chief  in  time  of  need,  or  to  leave  the  field  alive  when  he  had 
fallen.  And  the  glory  which  came  from  the  achievements 
of  the  followers  crowned  the  head  of  their  prince.  They 
fought  for  him,  as  he  fought  for  victory. 

From  the  spoils  the  lord  dealt  out  to  his  thegns :  horses, 
weapons,  ornaments. 

He  could  also  grant  them  land  and  estates  as  reward  for 
service;  and  the  English  kings  willingly  repaid  their  thegns 
in  a  way  which  secured  their  future  service.     Many  allot- 

*  Germania.  Cap,  12-14. 


6  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

ments  of  the  public  territory  were  thus  turned  over  to  indi- 
viduals with  the  approval  of  the  national  council;  it  was 
converted  from  fokla7id  into  bocland;  that  is,  chartered, 
legally  granted  land.  With  the  increase  of  the  royal  power, 
the  influence  of  the  king's  thegns  grew  in  like  degree.  The 
servants  of  the  royal  household  gradually  became  great  dig- 
nitaries of  the  realm.  Their  political  influence  steadily  ex- 
panded. In  the  national  assembly  ( Witenagemot^  Council 
of  the  Wise  Men),  these  thegns,  richly  endowed  with  lands, 
formed  a  stable  and  very  considerable  element. 

Thus  there  grew  up  in  the  English  kingdoms  a  nobility 
based  upon  vassalage  and  property ;  and  many  of  the  com- 
mon freemen  were  received  into  its  ranks.  But  it  suppressed 
the  class  of  the  "churls"  as  a  whole,  and  it  overshadowed 
the  aristocracy  of  birth. 

AVhat  the  kings  did,  the  lesser  lords  did  on  a  smaller  scale. 
Vassalage  as  an  accompaniment  of  the  renting  or  granting 
of  lands  formed  ever-widening  circles.  So  that  at  last  it  be- 
came a  principle  that  every  man  must  have  a  lord. 

Inasmuch  as  land  could  now  be  granted  with  conditions 
at  the  pleasure  of  the  grantor,  as  for  instance,  the  obligation 
of  military  service,  the  germs  of  the  feudal  system  were 
living,  and  they  were  growing  steadily,  though  more  slowly 
than  upon  the  continent. 

At  the  time  of  the  Norman  Conquest  they  had  not 
reached  full  development.  The  old  English  common- 
wealth, based  upon  the  union  of  free  men  able  to  bear  arms, 
was  then  severely  shattered,  but  not  overthrown. 

Though  the  political  influence  of  the  system  of  thegn- 
hood  made  itself  widely  felt  only  in  the  course  of  time,  yet  its 
ethical  influence  must  have  been  great  from  the  beginning. 
On  the  battlefield  the  idea  of  the  Comitatus  reached  full 
realisation,  a  realisation  that  must  have  deepened,  not  only 
the  warlike  passions,  but  also  the  feelings  of  piety,  of  loyalty, 
and  of  attachment.  These  feelings  are  foreign  to  no  Teu- 
tonic race,  but  they  found  among  the  English,  earlier  than 
among  other  tribes,  a  peculiarly  tender  and  sympathetic  ex- 
pression. To  explain  this  we  must  turn  to  the  principal 
features  of  their  inner  life. 

The  depth  and  intensity  of  feeling,  characteristic  of  the 
Teutonic  race,  seems,  among  the  English  of  that  early  time, 


TEUTONIC  DEITIES.  j 

to  have  been  accompanied  by  a  certain  emotive  excitability 
and  a  disposition  to  sentimental  exaggeration,  which,  op- 
posed to  stern  reality,  was  wont  to  take  on  the  character  of 
melancholy.  These  phases  of  their  character  are  a  remark- 
able contrast  to  the  unyielding  defiance  which  made  them 
despise  peril  and  laugh  at  death.  But  both  spring  from  the 
same  source :  the  ascendency  which  the  emotional  nature 
asserts  in  the  inner  hfe  of  the  Teuton.  How  it  happens 
that  this  tenderness  of  feeling,  which,  in  modern  times,  and 
in  truth  quite  recently,  was  held  to  be  the  inheritance  of  the 
German  in  the  narrower  sense,  especially  distinguished  the 
English  branch  in  the  antiquity  of  our  history,  is  not  easy  to 
explain.  But  it  seems  scarcely  doubtful  that  the  germ  of 
this  quality  was  already  present  in  it  before  the  conversion 
to  Christianity,  and  before  the  settlement  in  Britain ;  although 
Christianity  alone  carried  it  to  complete  development. 

The  cult  of  the  Wane-deities,  which  in  the  old  time  had 
its  chief  seat  among  the  Ingaevones,  seems  to  harmonise 
wbll  with  this  tendency  of  the  English  mind.  For  they 
were  friendly,  benevolent  spirits,  whose  life  and  sway  closed 
with  the  summer  time.  Both  sea  and  land  were  pervaded 
by  their  beneficent  influences ;  they  vouchsafed  to  men  a 
plenitude  of  needful  things,  and  a  peaceful  enjoyment  of 
them.  On  the  coming  of  winter,  they  disappeared,  died, 
leaving  behind  them  a  mysterious  awe.  But  in  the  spring 
the  longed-for  gods  came  back  again. 

Tacitus  ^  alludes  to  the  worship  of  Nerthus,  whose  name 
indicates  a  sea-goddess,  but  whom  he  calls  Terra  mafer. 
Her  sanctuary  was  upon  an  island  in  the  ocean,  where  her 
emblem,  the  chariot  covered  with  a  cloth,  was  guarded. 
Ing,  the  ancestor  of  the  Ingaevones,  was  no  other  than 
Frea  (see  p.  2),  who  originally  represented  the  masculine 
side  of  the  genial  power  also  embodied  in  Nerthus. 

Deities,  in  part  of  a  very  different  nature,  had  been 
adopted  by  the  Ingaevones,  through  their  intercourse  with 
other  Teutonic  nations,  or,  if  not  unknown  to  them  before, 
had  been  admitted  to  higher  honors.  The  Ingaevones,  too, 
had  learned,  after  the  precedent  of  the  Istasvones,  to  adore 
the  storm-god  Woden,  as  the  chief  of  all  gods.  To  Woden, 
in  whom  the  passionateness  of  the  Teutonic  genius,  the  vie- 

*  Germania,  Cap.  40. 


8  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

torious  progi'ess  of  the  Teutonic  hordes,  as  well  as  the  intel- 
lectual activity  of  the  race  seem  embodied,  the  royal  dynasties 
of  the  English  traced  back  their  pedigree.  Nor  were  the 
English  unacquainted  with  the  cult  of  the  fierce  sword-god 
Tiw,  whose  name  suggests  the  Old- Aryan  god  of  the  sky, 
and  who  was  worshipped  with  servile  humility  in  the  national 
sanctuary  of  the  Herminones.  With  the  name  of  Saxneat 
(sword-companion)  Tiw  stands,  as  Woden's  son,  at  the  head 
of  the  genealogical  table  of  the  kings  of  Essex,  with  de- 
scendants whose  names  denote,  the  activity  of  the  god  in  the 
different  phases  of  a  battle.  In  like  manner  the  god  of  thun- 
der was  worshipped  among  them :  Thunor,  the  fighter  of 
giants  and  monsters,  the  promoter  of  husbandry,  whose  feats 
the  armies  sang  when  marching  to  battle. 

Like  their  political  system,  the  religion  of  the  English 
tribes  may  have  been  at  first  but  little  modified  by  the  settle- 
ment in  Britain.  It  is  probable  that  the  conquest  placed, 
not  only  the  earthly,  but  the  celestial  monarchy  upon  a 
firmer  basis;  that  it  caused  men  everywhere  to  regard 
Woden  as  the  chief  of  gods.  Woden  was  certainly  deemed 
by  them  the  god  of  culture,  the  discoverer  of  the  runes,  as 
by  the  Scandinavian  races  to  whom  they  had  perhaps  com- 
municated his  worship.  The  wdse  disposer  of  battles  who 
gave  the  victory  to  English  armies  under  leaders  descended 
fi-om  himself,  deserved  thanks  before  all  other  gods. 

Some  older  deities  may  have  been  gradually  forgotten,  or 
their  attributes  may  have  been  transferred  to  other  gods,  or 
certain  phases  of  their  being  may  have  Hved  on  under  later 
names  in  the  form  of  divine  heroes,  of  demigods. 

But  the  chief  change  was  one  by  which  demigods  became 
earthly  heroes.  It  was  the  age  of  the  migration  of  peoples 
which,  in  the  blending  of  myth  and  history,  gave  birth  to 
the  hero-saga. 


IL 

Of  all  the  Teutonic  tribes  that  established  themselves 
within  the  boundaries  of  the  Roman  empire,  the  English  were 
in  the  most  favourable  position  for  the  preservation  of  their 
language  and  nationahtv.     In  Britain,  Rome  had  struck  her 


LANGUAGE.  9 

roots  much  less  deep  than  in  Gaul  or  Spain.  After  the  re- 
moval of  the  Roman  legions,  the  Celtic  element,  had  it  been 
left  to  itself,  must  have  gained  the  upper  hand  again ;  for  its 
strength  outside  of  the  cities  had  remained  almost  unim- 
paired. In  their  ancient  home  the  English  tribes  had  scarcely 
come  into  contact  with  Romans  at  all.  What  incitements 
and  products  of  culture  had  reached  them  from  Rome  or 
Byzantium  through  the  agency  of  other  German  tribes,  had 
not,  it  is  true,  been  wholly  without  influence.  They  had  not 
sufficed,  however,  to  turn  the  course  of  organic  develop- 
ment into  other  channels..  Indeed,  the  most  important  edu- 
cational factor  which,  in  the  olden  time,  had  penetrated 
from  the  south  into  Germany,  the  Roman  alphabet,  had  be- 
come, in  the  hands  of  the  Teutons,  an  instrument  for  the  cul- 
mination of  national  tendencies,  for  the  promotion  of  national 
characteristics.  Much  altered  in  form,  furnished  with  German 
names,  these  simple  sound-exponents  had  disguised  them- 
selves in  the  veil  of  mystery  and  symbolism  (hence  the  name, 
runes)  and  they  were  turned  chiefly  to  religious  uses.  After 
the  settlement  in  Britain  no  reasons  of  state  led  the  Teutonic 
conquerors  to  lean  upon  Roman  traditions,  as  in  other  prov- 
inces of  the  empire.  The  immigrants  in  Britain  did  not  live 
with  a  native  population,  permeated  by  Roman  culture,  and 
ready  to  communicate  this  culture.  Only  dumb  witnesses, 
monuments  of  Roman  art  and  industry,  spoke  to  them  of 
the  greatness  of  the  people  whose  place  they  had  taken.  By 
means  of  the  (q\v  Latin  words  which  then  came  into  the 
English  language,  as  x/r^/,  ceaste7\  coin,  we  discern  what 
creations  of  the  antique  world  appealed  most  powerfully  to 
the  imagination  of  the  conquerors. 

More  noteworthy  in  the  end  was  the  influence  of  the 
Celtic  element.  Yet  philology  teaches  that,  in  the  first 
centuries,  there  was  no  intellectual  and  social  intercourse  be- 
tween the  Britons  and  Saxons.  How  could  such  intercourse 
have  been  possible  in  a  struggle  which  sought  to  extermi- 
nate or  to  expel,  rather  than  to  subdue  ?  The  words  which 
found  their  v/ay  from  the  Celtic  vocabulary  into  the  English 
language  during  the  earlier  periods  of  its  growth,  consist 
chiefly  of  the  names  of  rivers  and  mountains,  with  some 
terms  for  the  utensils  of  the  house,  of  labour,  and  the  like. 

Language,  manners,  political  system,  religion,  everything 


10  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

retained,  for  some  time  in  the  English  kingdoms,  an  essential- 
ly Teutonic  character. 

The  language  which,  as  far  back  as  our  knowledge 
reaches,  named  itself  Englisc, — the  collective  name  of  the 
nation  being  E?igle  or  Angelcyri — existed  only  in  a  number  of 
dialects  whose  peculiarities  and  boundaries,  however,  do  not 
take  definite  form  for  us  until  a  later  time.  Yet  we  may, 
perhaps,  assume  for  the  period  before  us,  in  connection  with 
the  three  chief  tribes,  an  Anglian,  a  Saxon,  and  a  Jutish 
dialect.  The  Anglian  prevailed  in  the  north  and  in  the 
greater  part  of  the  I^Iidland  country ;  the  Saxon,  in  most 
regions  of  the  south ;  and  the  Jutish,  especially  in  Kent. 
The  most  distinct  contrast  lay  between  the  North-Anglian 
and  the  Saxon;  whereas,  the  old  Kentish  dialect  seems  to 
have  been  more  nearly  allied,  in  some  respects,  to  the 
Anghan,  and,  as  a  whole,  rather  to  the  Saxon.  In  the 
course  of  time  the  difference  between  the  north  and  the 
south  grew  wider,  many  peculiarities  appearing  at  the  same 
time  in  the  Kentish ;  but  in  the  Midland  country,  where  the 
Anglian  and  the  Saxon  met,  there  sprang  up  a  mixed,  inter- 
mediate dialect,  with  a  great  variety  of  constituents. 
\  In  spite  of  the  many  vicissitudes  of  its  history,  the  Eng- 
1  lish  language  preserves  to  this  day  the  closest  relations  to 
!  the  dialects  of  the  Low  German  mainland,  to  the  Frisian 
and  the  Low  Saxon.     On  the  other  hand,  the  lincruistic  con- 

o 

nection  between  Englishmen  and  their  early  neighbours  who 
now  inhabit  South  Germany  is  very  much  relaxed.  The 
change  of  habitation  worked  radical  changes  in  the  language ; 
and  we  must  not  forget  that  the  great  modification  of  conso- 
nants which,  from  the  seventh  century  onwards,  began 
sharply  to  divide  the  High  from  the  Low  German  stock, 
remained  confined  to  the  southern  half  of  the  country. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  sixth  centurv,  the  En  dish  tribes 
had  as  yet  no  literature.  The  use  of  their  runes  was  much 
restricted :  single  signs  or  short  sentences,  proverbs,  magic 
formulas,  were  scratched  upon  staves,  drinking-horas,  swords, 
ornaments,  etc.  When  lots  were  cast,  three  rune-staves 
were  taken  up  at  random,  and  their  meaning  was  interpreted 
poetically  according  to  the  laws  of  alliteration. 

Law  and  justice,  myth  and  saga,  history  and  practical 
wisdom  were  handed  down  orally  in  poetical  sayings,   or 


GLEE-MEN.  II 

flowing  song.  High  esteem  was  paid  to  the  art  of  "  find- 
ing sayings  rightly  bound,"  that  is,  in  aUiterative  verse,  and 
of  speaking  with  skill  and  clearness.  The  song  accompa- 
nied by  the  harp  awoke  to  mirth;  at  no  feast  were  they 
wanting: 

The  thegn  fulfilled  his  office, 
He  that  bore  in  his  hand  the  ale-mug  huge, 
And  adorned ;  he  poured  the  pure,  sweet  liquor. 
Oftimes  a  singer  sang,  full  merrily  sang, 
In  Heorot's  hall;  there  was  joy  of  heroes.* 

Or: 

There  was  song  and  sound,  where  heroes  sat, 
Both  for  Healfdene's  battle-leader; 
The  glee-wood  was  touched,  the  song  oft  entoned, 
When  Hrothgar's  scop  should  tell  the  hall-cheer 
Along  the  mead-bench.  ^ 

The  "  glee-wood "  (gomenwudii,  and  also  gleohedm)  was 
the  harp,  and  the  player  and  singer  was  called  gleoman,  glee- 
man.  The  word  scop  had  a  pore  special,  and  a  more  ex- 
alted significance,  denoting  the  poets  and  singers  who  dwelt 
at  a  court.  The  scop  belonged  to  the  thegns  and  the  mem- 
bers of  the  king's  household,  and  he  might  hold  himself 
equal  to  heroes.  His  art  yielded  him  high  praise  and  rich 
gifts.  Nevertheless  a  longing  for  distant  scenes,  the  Teu- 
tonic roving  impulse,  often  seized,  him  ;  and  wandering  from 
court  to  court,  everywhere  a  welcome  guest,  he  brought 
fresh  songs,  and  tidings  of  strange  peoples  and  events. 

A  typical  representative  of  this  brotherhood  of  itinerant 
singers,  named  Widsith,  or  far-traveller,  is  the  hero  of  an  old 
song,  the  oldest  monument  of  English  poetry  that  remains 
to  us.  It  may  be  received  as  a  glorification  of  the  class  to 
which  Widsith  belonged,  as  well  as  an  introduction  to  the 
ethnography  and  dynastic  lore  of  the  Teutonic  heroic  age. 
From  both  points  of  view  it  deserves  our  attention.  It  be- 
gins : 

Widsith  spake ;  unlocked  his  word-hoard ;  he  who,  of  all  men,  had 
journeyed  most  among  the  tribes  and  peoples  of  the  earth  :  oft  he  re- 
ceived in  the  hall  costly  gifts.  His  race  sprang  from  the  Myrgings.^ 
He  had  visited  for  the  first  time  with  Ealhhild,'*    the  faithful  peace- 

'  Beow7tlf,  V.  494-497.  2  Ihid.,  v.  1063-1067. 

'  The  Myrgings,  Lat.  Maunmgani,  who  lived  upon  and  eastward  of  the  Elbe,  are 
•ometimes  identified  with  the  Swaefs  (the  North  Swabians),  and  sometimes  distin- 
guished from  them. 

*  Daughter  of  the  Lombard  King  Epdwine  (Auduin)  and  wife  of  Eadgüs,  king  of 
the  Myrgings. 


12  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

weaver,  the  abode  of  the  Hreth-king,  eastward  of  Ongle,  Eormanric,^ 
the  grim  violator  of  treaties.  He  began  to  speak  of  many  things  :  "I 
learned  from  many  men  who  rule  over  tribes :  each  ruler  should  live 
uprightly,  should  govern  his  inheritance,  one  eorl  after  the  other,  he 
who  desires  his  throne  to  thrive.  Aetla*  ruled  the  Huns  ;  Eormanric, 
the   Goths ;  Becca,  the  Eanings ;  and  over  the  Burgundians,  Gifica.' 

Then  there  follows  in  close  order  a  long  list  of  earlier  and 
later  kings  famed  in  saga,  historical,  fictitious,  and  mythical. 
At  the  close  we  hear  of  the  heroic  deeds  of  Offa,  king  of 
the  Angles,  in  battle  with  the  Myrgings,  and  of  the  long 
friendship  which  the  two  cousins,  Hrothwulf  and  Hrothgar,^ 
held,  after  they  had  conquered  their  enemies  at  Heorot. 

The  singer  next  relates  what  people  he  has  visited  (and 
here  several  names  from  the  first  catalogue  appear  a  second 
time),  and  how  many  kings  have  been  gracious  to  him. 
From  the  Burgundian  king,  Gu?5here  (Günther),  he  has  re- 
ceived rich  presents  as  a  reward  for  his  singing.  He  highly 
commends  the  generosity  of  Aelfwine  (xA.lbuin),  whom  he 
has  met  in  Italy.  Eormanric  has  given  him  a  costly  ring, 
with  which,  on  his  return  to  the  Myrgings,  he  has  honoured 
his  lord,  Eadgils,  in  gratitude  for  the  estate  granted  him. 
For  that  the  queen,  Ealhhild,  daughter  of  Eadwine,  has  be- 
stowed a  new  bounty  upon  him.  He  has  spread  her  praise 
far  and  wide,  and  celebrated  her  as  the  most  excellent  of  the 
gold-decked  queens  v/ho  confer  gifts. 

Finally  Widsith  tells  us  how  he  wandered  through  the 
entire  realm  of  the  Goths,  names  the  men  of  Eormanric 
whom  he  visited,  mentions  the  hard  struggle  the  Goths  had 
to  withstand  in  the  forests  of  the  Vistula  against  the  Huns, 
who  were  pressing  upon  them,  and  praises  the  courage  of 
Wudga  and  Hama.  Then  he  ends  his  speech,  and  with  it 
the  poem,  in  the  following  words : 

Thus  roving,  the  glee-men  wander  through  the  lands  of  many  men, 
as  their  fate  wills ;  they  let  their  needs  be  known,  and  utter  words  of 
thanks.  They  find  ever,  in  the  north  or  in  the  south,  some  one  who 
understands  song,  is  not  niggardly  with  gifts,  who  will  exalt  his  fame 
before  his  heroes,  and  show  manhood  until  all  things  disappear,  even 

*  Ermanaric,  Ermenrich,  king  of  the  Goths,  who  are  also  called  Hrethgoths. 
Ongle,  or  Angle,  in  Sleswig,  is  the  home  of  the  Angles. 

"  Attila,  Etzel. 

*  Gibich,  (in  whose  place  Dankrat  appears  in  the  Nibelungen  Lied),  father  of 
Günther. 

*  Son  of  Healfdene,  king  of  the  Island  Danes.  Of  him,  as  well  as  his  palace 
Htiorot,  wc  shall  learn  more  in  Beowulf, 


NATIONAL  POETRY.  1 3 

light  and  life.     He  who  works  praise  has  under  heaven  high  and 
steady  fame.* 

Widsith  was  singer  and  harper  by  calling.     We  see  in  this 

how  he  was  at  once  the  mediator  and  the  teacher  of  peoples. 

The  gift  of  song  and  poetry  was  not,  however,  the  monopoly 

of  any  guild.     Heroes  and  kings  also  practised  the  art.     Of 

Hrothgar  it  is  said  that. 

Now  the  hero,  battled-tried,  the  glee-wood  touched, 
The  harp's  sweet  note  awoke ;  and  now  a  song  entoned, 
Both  sooth  and  sad ;  now  the  great-hearted  king 
Told  well  a  wondrous  tale.* 

And  in  the  life  of  a  later  ecclesiastical  poet,^  we  see  that 
song  and  playing  were  cultivated  by  peasants,  and  even  by 
freedmen  and  serfs.  At  beer-feasts  the  harp  went  from  hand 
to  hand. 

But  herein  lies  the  essential  difference  between  that  age 
and  our  own:  the  result  of  poetical  activity  was  not  the 
property  and  not  the  production  of  a  single  person,  but  of 
the  community.  The  work  of  the  individual  singer  endured 
only  as  long  as  its  delivery  lasted.  He  gained  personal  dis- 
tinction only  as  a  virtuoso.  The  permanent  elements  of 
what  he  presented,  the  material,  the  ideas,  even  the  style 
and  metre,  already  existed.  The  work  of  the  singer  was 
only  a  ripple  in  th&  stream  of  national  poetry.  Who  can  say 
how  much  the  individual  contributed  to  it,  or  where  in  his 
poetical  recitation  memory  ceased  and  creative  impulse  be- 
gan !  In  any  case  the  work  of  the  individual  lived  on  only 
as  the  ideal  possession  of  the  aggregate  body  of  the  people, 
and  it  soon  lost  the  stamp  of  originality. 

In  view  of  such  a  development  of  poetry,  we  must  as- 
sume a  time  when  the  collective  consciousness  of  a  people 
or  race  is  paramount  in  its  unity ;  when  the  intellectual  life 
of  each  is  nourished  from  the  same  treasury  of  views  and  as- 
sociations, of  myths  and  sagas;  when  similar  interests  stir 
each  breast;  and  the  ethical  judgment  of  all  applies  itself  to 
the  same  standard.  In  such  an  age  the  form  of  poetical  ex- 
pression will  also  be  common  to  all,  necessarily  solemn, 
earnest  and  simple. 

A  genuine  epic  poetry  seems  first  to  have  grown  up  among 

*  IVtdstih,  V.  135-143. 

^  Beoiu-ulf,  V.  2107-21 10. 

•  Vid.  Chapter  IV,,  on  Caedmoa. 


14  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

the  rJennans  In  the  migration  of  races.  Its  precursor  among 
them,  as  in  all  cases,  was  hymnic  poetry. 

In  this  oldest  form  are  the  germs  of  later  species  yet  un- 
defined. But  form,  tone,  and  manner  of  presentation  cor- 
respond chiefly  to  our  definition  of  lyrical  poetry.  The  song 
moved  onward  in  short  strophes,  and  it  was  doubtless  ar- 
ranged for  delivery  by  a  chorus,  certainly  for  the  coopera- 
tion of  one.  The  recital  was  rich  in  metaphors,  similes,  and 
poetical  turns  of  expression ;  but  even  in  the  narrative  parts, 
it  lacked  the  steadiness,  clearness  and  calmness  which  we 
seek  in  narrative  style.  A  knowledge,  on  the  hearer's  part, 
of  the  events  treated  was  assumed  by  the  poet.  He  brought 
into  prominence  only  isolated  points  that  had  impressed 
him  with  especial  vividness.  This  poetry  was  essentially 
adapted  to  time  and  occasion.  It  was  a  feature  of  religious 
solemnities,  or  of  the  popular  festivals  which  accompanied 
them.  It  served  to  express  sadness  or  joy,  to  praise  the 
gods  and  heroes,  and  to  herald  their  deeds  or  to  implore 
their  help,  as  well  as  to  influence  or  disclose  the  future. 
The  march  to  battle  was  a  religious  act,  indeed  the  most 
solemn  and  holy  of  all.  The  gods  whose  sacred  emblems 
were  borne  before  the  army,  and  whose  deeds  were  sung, 
were  believed  to  be  actually  present ;  and  in  every  battle- 
roar,  raised  "  with  swords  and  shields,"  the  warriors  hoped 
to  hear  the  mighty  voice  of  the  thunderer.  The  burial  ob- 
sequies of  kings  and  heroes  were  also  accompanied  by  set 
ceremonies ;  among  them  was  the  singing  of  dirges  of  lament 
and  praise  for  the  fallen. 

Hymnic  poetry  drew  its  chief  nourishment  from  the 
myth. 

As  the  German  heroic  age  dawned  and  the  hero-saga  de- 
veloped, there  arose,  beside  the  hymnic  poetry,  a  freer,  more 
worldly  art,  distinct  from  religion ;  an  art  in  which  the 
awakened  historical  sense,  and  the  more  independent 
aesthetic  impulse  found  satisfaction ;  a  poetry  through 
which  the  great  figures  and  events  of  history  were  pervaded 
by  a  mythical  colouring,  and  which  portrayed  upon  a  mys- 
terious and  wonder-peopled  background,  deeds  surpassing 
human  strengtli,  passions  and  sorrows  of  equal  measure, 
tragical  vicissitudes.     With  the  hero-saga  appeared  the  epic. 

The  style  gained  in  continuity  and  repose.     Though  the 


EPIC  SONGS.  15 

incidents  related  by  the  singer  were  known,  yet  it  was  the 
narration  of  facts,  as  well  as  the  reproduction  of  the  speeches 
of  the  poetical  characters  that  was  attractive.  Curbing  his 
own  impatience,  the  task  of  the  narrator  was  to  render  the 
single  passages  of  the  action  according  to  their  natural  order. 
In  this  way  he  roused  the  expectation  of  his  audience,  and 
affected  pleasurably  their  assthetic  sense.  The  choral  mode 
would  have  been  rather  a  hindrance  than  an  advantage  to 
this  kind  of  poetry ;  the  strophic  form  was  discarded  for  the 
same  reason.  Without  further  combination,  the  lines  con- 
tinuously followed  each  other. 

The  whole  was,  in  itself  however,  a  well-rounded  epic  song 
of  easy  compass,  and  although  it  was  naturally  not  repeated 
without  some  variations  of  phraseology,  its  beginning  and 
end  were  sharply  defined.  It  existed  independently,  resem- 
bling other  poems  of  the  same  kind  only  in  style  and  tone, 
and  in  relationship  of  material. 

In  each  of  these  songs  a  passage  from  the  life  of  some 
hero  of  saga  was  taken  for  representation :  as  a  rule  a  mo- 
ment of  commanding  importance,  a  deed  disclosing  the  he- 
ro's entire  strength  and  greatness  of  soul,  an  event  involv- 
ing a  decisive  turn  of  his  fortunes,  in  which  indeed  they  were 
tragically  fulfilled.  What  had  goflie  before  was  indicated, 
so  far  as  it  concerned  what  we  may  call  the  dramatic  course 
of  the  action.  Otherwise  the  antecedents  were  here  also  as- 
sumed to  be  already  known.  Hence  the  representation  was 
terse,  only  essentials  being  made  conspicuous.  The  chief  im- 
portance was  attached  to  the  speeches  in  which  the  charac- 
ters, single  types  wrought  at  one  mould,  revealed  their  nature 
and  the  significance  of  the  a^on.  The  German  So?ig  of 
Hildcbrand  is  an  example. 

Most  of  the  German  peoples  apparently  rested  at  this 
stage  of  epic  poetry.  Not  until  centuries  later,  long  after  the 
reception  of  Christianity  and  their  permeation  by  foreign 
elements  of  culture,  did  the  High  German  tribes  create, 
under  favourable  circumstances,  a  comprehensive  epos ;  and 
this,  despite  its  unique  merits,  does  not  hide  the  discordancy 
between  the  pagan  saga,  whence  it  grew,  and  the  Christian 
cult  in  whose  ray  it  thrived.  As  regards  the  Franks  in  Gaul, 
their  immediate  contact  with  an  older,  much  superior  civli- 
sation,  forced  upon  them  not  only  a  strange  reUgion  but  a 


l6  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

Strange  language,  at  the  very  time  when  they  reached  the 
summit  of  their  historical  achievement.  Their  ancient  hero- 
saga  was  lost,  save  only  meagre  reminiscences;  but  the 
ancient  myth  worked  on  the  more  potently,  in  that  it  at- 
tached itself  to  personages  in  this  new,  great  history ;  and 
thus  was  developed  in  the  new  nation  a  new  hero-saga. 
From  the  eleventh  century  onward  we  also  find  a  grand 
epos,  which,  however,  no  longer  belongs  to  Germanic 
poetry,  and  in  which  the  pagan  mythical  element,  as  such, 
is  scarcely  preceptible. 

There  were  indeed  Teutonic  races  that  never  attained  to 
an  epic  in  the  epoch  of  the  migrations.  With  the  Scandi- 
navians, the  hero-saga  did  not  reach  the  same  dignity  as  the 
myth  until  the  forms  of  hymnic  poetry,  in  manifold  variety, 
had  become  fixed  and  enduring.  The  separation  from 
higher  culture,  the  isolation  from  the  arena  of  history,  the 
life  in  natural  surroundings  of  colossal  savagery  and  austere 
beauty,  there  preserved  longer  a  mental  temperament  favour- 
able to  the  myth,  while  they  augmented  the  untamable  pas- 
sionateness  of  the  people. 

A  single  German  branch  ascended  in  that  early  time  to 
a  higher  level  of  epic  poetry,  a  level  mid-way  between  the 
epic  surviving  in  detached  songs,  and  the  epos  as  it  devel- 
oped, in  the  highest  sense,  among  the  Greeks,  and  under 
less  favourable  conditions  (hence  less  humanly-beautiful), 
yet  quite  as  vigorously,  in  France.  This  branch  was  the 
same  that  subdued  Britain. 

Imagine  the  jubilant  feeling  of  the  victor  whose  sword 
has  conquered  broad,  beautiful  lands  where  a  world-ruling 
nation  has  left  the  traces  of  her  activity.  Among  the  ruins 
of  venerable  monuments,  the  relics  of  a  perfected  art  and  a 
refined  culture,  he  disposes  himself  in  his  own  way  with 
proud  independence.  Upon  a  new  and  broader  field,  he 
re-creates  the  institutions  of  his  home,  and  still  remaining 
essentially  himself,  he  grows  with  his  larger  aims.  In  a 
never-ending  struggle,  with  but  occasional  interruptions, 
waged  in  the  south  as  well  as  in  the  north,  he  drives  the 
native  population  ever  farther  westward.  He  feels  himself 
superior  to  the  Celt  despite  the  higher  civilisation  which 
has  touched  him,  and  from  which  the  conqueror  receives 
hardly  perceptible,  yet  potent,  incitement.     The  sense  of  hia 


PROGRESS  TO  THE  EPOS.  fj 

own  worth,  the  proud  confidence  in  his  own  power,  grow 
strong  in  the  opposition  of  races. 

What  must  the  chieftains,  just  become  kings,  have  felt  in 
their  new  realms,  whose  boundaries  extended  after  every 
victory !  They  were  surrounded  by  faithful  thegns  now 
transformed  into  great  personages,  and  who,  by  their  own 
influence,  strengthened  the  authority  of  the  prince. 

More  refined  manners,  a  fixed  ceremonial,  grew  up  by  de  - 
grees  at  the  EngHsh  courts.  Although  life  was  yet  very 
primitive,  it  took  on  a  somewhat  nobler  expression.  Poetry 
constituted  its  most  ideal  side.  Where  all  of  life  had  gained 
in  value  and  meaning,  it  became  the  task  of  poetic  art  to 
mirror,  not  only  the  violent  crises,  but  the  every-day  details 
of  this  life,  to  reproduce  in  the  picture  those  things,  events, 
modes  of  intercourse,  which  pleased  in  reality. 

Thus  the  epic  form  of  the  hero-saga  was  developed  in  the 
sixth  century,  among  the  English  tribes,  to  that  fulness  of 
life  indispenaable  in  our  conception  of  the  epos. 

Those  externals,  those  small  happenings  of  life  which  po- 
etry presents,  are  attractive  because  they  are  brought  into  re- 
lation with  significant  acts  and  occurrences.  Nor  is  the  need 
of  a  broader  interdependence  confined  to  that  relation.  It 
involves  the  very  essence  of  the  matter.  As  in  real  life,  in 
the  state,  larger  aims  are  methodically  pursued,  so  in  the  saga 
was  sought  a  comprehensive  plan.  It  is  desirable  to  know  of 
the  hero  whom  we  have  seen  act  in  this  or  that  emergency, 
how  he  bore  himself  on  an  earlier  or  later  occasion.  One 
important,  decisive  event  calls  to  mind  another  resembling 
it,  or  forming  a  sharp  contrast  with  it,  and  the  question  arises, 
if  there  is  not  a  certain  connection  between  the  two.  How 
was  some  tragic  event  brought  about  ?  What  personages 
contributed  to  its  denouement  ?  The  poetic  fancy  puts  ques- 
tions like  these,  and  answers  them  while  it  adjusts  what  is 
heterogeneous  and  unites  what  is  remote.  Thus  the  hero- 
saga  acquired  a  richer  proportion  and  closer  structure,  and 
simultaneously  with  the  form  was  fashioned  the  substance  of 
the  epos.  And  in  the  whole  the  people  created  an  idealised 
image  of  itself. 

In  the  next  chapter  we  shall  see  that  the  epic  movement 
in  England  did  not  reach  its  goal,  and  that  the  national  epos 
did  not  ripen  to  perfection.     The  style  alone  speedily  devei- 

Q 


l8  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

oped  to  a  certain  completeness.  Yet  it  is  precisely  from 
some  peculiarities  of  this  epic  style,  wrought,  as  it  was,  from 
the  elements  of  poetic  expression  transmitted  from  the  hymnic 
poetry,  that  we  may  gain  an  insight  into  the  causes  \vhich 
arrested  the  growth  of  the  epos  in  matter  and  composition, 
and  which  were  far  from  being  merely  outward  obstacles. 

The  English  epos  had  lost  much  of  the  imagery  and  sen- 
suousness  which,  from  comparison  with  other  literatures,  we 
must  presuppose  for  the  old  hymnic  poetry,  but  it  still  re- 
tained enough  of  these  qualities,  which  it  employed  effect- 
ively in  its  own  way. 

Where  vast  natural  phenomena  and  events,  or  w^eighty  hu- 
man actions  were  to  be  presented,  the  poet  was  wont  to 
dwell  with  happy  art  upon  effective  minor  features :  as  at  the 
opening  of  winter;  the  approach  of  an  ocean  storm,  when 
the  garfish  glides  sportively  through  the  sea,  and  the  gray 
sea-mew  circles  ravenously  in  the  air;  on  the  occasion  of  a 
sea  voyage ;  at  the  time  of  strife  and  battle,  when  wolf,  ra- 
ven and  eagle  gather  about  the  army  for  their  prey,  and 
strike  up  their  horrid  notes ;  when  a  hero  prepares  to  act  or 
speak,  and  we  hear  the  clash  of  his  armour  or  see  it  resplen- 
dent. 

Concrete  phrases  were  often  employed  instead  of  the  di- 
rect, but  more  abstract  expressions :  "  to  prepare  the  murder- 
bed,"  for  "kill;"  "to  bear  weapons"  (helmets,  shields, 
coats-of-mail),  instead  of  "go;"  "to  guide  the  craunching 
keel  over  the  sea-way,"  instead  of  "to  sail  the  sea." 

Such  a  diction  is,  as  a  matter  of  course,  full  of  figurative 
speech,  but  most  of  these  metaphors,  taking  root  in  primi- 
tive-naive and  often  mythical  conception,  are  so  simple  and 
obvious  that,  as  in  the  language  of  every-day  life,  they  are 
not  felt  to  be  figurative.  Those  turns  of  phrase,  too,  which 
impress  us  as  decidedly  metaphorical,  are  seldom  very  strik- 
ing and  hardly  ever  especially  daring.  Winter  shackles  the 
billows  in  ice-fetters ;  frost  and  rime,  the  "  gray  battle-goers," 
lock  the  abodes  of  men ;  weapons  wait  for  the  decision  of 
speech.  The  scream  of  the  ravenous  beasts  of  prey,  of 
which  we  have  spoken,  is  called  singing,  batde,  or  even-song. 
The  shriek  of  rage  of  the  vanquished  monster,  Grendel,  is  a 
horror-song,  song  without  victory,  and  the  sword  whizzing 
about  the  head  sings  a  greedy  battle-song. 

A  characteristic  of  the  English  epos,  in  contrast  with  the 


EPIC   STYLE.  19 

Homeric,  is  the  absence  of  simile.  The  poet  who,  com- 
paring the  thing  and  the  image,  keeps  them  clearly  apart 
and  is  even  able  fondly  to  delineate  the  image  in  all  details, 
to  endow  it  with  traits  given  only  for  the  sake  of  the  pict- 
ure, not  of  the  thing,  proves  himself  an  artist  who,  not  strait- 
ened in  his  material,  preserving  repose  in  the  midst  of  com- 
motion, freely  choosing  with  clear  insight,  seeks  to  shape  the 
beautiful.  Such  repose  and  fine  serenity  were  foreign  to  the 
English  character.  Complete  artistic  similes  are  entirely 
wanting  in  the  English  epos ;  short  and  obvious  ones,  such 
as  we  often  use  in  daily  life,  occur,  though  but  rarely :  the 
ship  glides  away  like  a  bird ;  Grendel's  eyes  gleam  like  the 
fire,  et  cetera. 

Sensuous  and  figurative  perception  seems  crystallised  in 
picturesque  epithets,  and  principally  in  substantive  expres- 
sions which,  making  prominent  a  characteristic,  a  quality  of 
the  person  or  thing  meant,  are  put  appositively  beside  the  real 
designation,  and  often  take  its  place.  There  is  an  especial 
abundance  of  these  expressions  pertaining  to  the  ocean  and 
the  sea-voyage,  or  to  war  and  the  relation  of  the  chieftain  to 
his  men.  Thus  among  other  things,  the  ocean  is  called  the 
"  whale-path,"  "  swan-path,"  "  battle  of  the  waves ; "  the  ship, 
"  wave-farer,"  "sea-wood,"  "  wave-steed ; "  the  warrior,  "hel- 
met-bearer; "  eagle  and  raven  are  conceived  together  as  "  host- 
birds;"  the  king  or  prince  is  called  " ring-bestower,"  "treas- 
ure-giver/' "  gold-friend ; "  his  hall  is  a  "  gift-hall; "  his  seat,  the 
"gift-stool."  The  body  is  often  named  "bone-house,"  or 
" bone- vessel,"  and  the  mind,  "breast-hoard." 

To  such  circumlocution  the  old  English  poetry  was  par- 
tial ;  it  massed  synonymous  expressions  for  the  same  idea,  as 
if  it  would  show  the  most  diverse  phases  of  its  theme.  Be- 
sides this  was  the  peculiar  effect  proceeding  from  the  order 
of  words  in  speech. 

Like  most  languages  which  can  command  some  wealth  of 
inflection,  and  are  not  coerced  into  a  logical  corselet  by 
grammar-masters,  the  Old  English  rejoiced  in  great  freedom 
of  construction.  How  such  freedom  may  serve  a  delicate, 
artistic  sense  or  a  keen  understanding,  to  obtain  the  clearest 
effects,  is  attested  by  Greek  poets  and  prose  writers  and  by 
many  among  the  Latins.  For  this,  however,  is  necessary 
that  cheerful  repose  of  mind  not  vouchsafed  to  the  Teutonic 
races. 


20  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

The  language  of  the  Old  English  epic  points  to  a  condi- 
tion of  mind  where  ideas  blend,  vanish  and  reappear.  With- 
out evident  ground  as  to  subject-matter,  closely  connected 
words  are  sometimes  separated  from  each  other.  In  appo- 
sition, whose  very  nature  involves  a  freer  arrangement,  the 
separation  of  appositive  words  is  almost  the  rule.  Not  oiily 
substantive,  but  also  verbal  and  adverbial  conceptions,  are 
repeated  in  varying  form,  and  thence  proceeds  a  succession 
of  clauses,  essentially  the  same  in  meaning,  with  manifold 
parallelism  of  their  elements.  And  the  same  principle  holds 
in  the  larger  scope.  The  epic  style  requires  more  detail  in 
the  execution,  and  so  it  often  happens  in  the  English  epos 
that  single  passages  in  a  detailed  account  of  an  action  or 
an  occurrence  are  made  prominent,  dropped,  and  again 
taken  up.  The  poet  deems  himself  unable  to  do  justice  to 
his  subject;  he  exhausts  his  stock  of  ideas  and  language; 
and  in  spite  of  all  his  endeavours,  we  feel  that  he  does  not 
advance. 

There  are,  besides,  frequent  unconnected  transitions,  as 
well  as  a  certain  poverty  of  particles,  which  are  the  cement 
of  sentence-structure,  and  indicate  the  delicate  shading  in 
the  relations  of  thought. 

Further,  as  he  who  is  entirely  filled  with  his  subject  is  oft- 
en least  able  to  begin  his  narrative  at  the  commencement, 
clearly  to  designate  throughout  what  is  treated,  as  he  who  is 
passionate  expects,  indeed  requires,  that  the  hstener  shall  un- 
derstand at  once  who  is  meant  by  "he"  or  "she,"  soJ;his 
epic  style  occasionally  puts  the  pronoun  at  the  hea^of  the 
sentence,  and  the  word  whose  place  it  takes  at  the  end, 
as  if  it  were  apposition  al;  while,  on  the  contrary,  where  we 
expect  only  a  pronoun,  since  an  idea  just  broached  is  re- 
sumed, we  not  rarely  find  a  sententious  paraphrase.  The 
treatment  is  similar  at  the  resumption  of  an  adverbial  ele- 
ment. Numerous  interruptions  often  necessitate  a  new  be- 
ginning. 

Everywhere  we  see  how  were  impaired,  not  indeed  the 
fresh  sensuousness  in  detail,  but  the  lucidity  and  perspicuity 
of  the  whole,  by  the  plenitude  of  ideas  that  crowded  upon 
the  poet,  and  the  perturbation  which  they  evoked.  But 
this  excitement  was  neither  entirely,  nor  even  chiefly,  due  to 
a  passing  emotion  in  the  poet's  mind.     It  was  traditional. 


EtIC  STYLE.  21 

It  clung  to  the  poetic  language  as  it  was  transmitted  by  the 
hymn  to  the  epic  song  and  the  epos.  In  consequence  of 
this  transmission,  the  poetical  style  had  lost  passionateness  as 
well  as  imagery  and  sensuousness ;  but  if  of  the  latter 
qualities  it  still  had  enough,  of  the  former  there  remained 
too  much.  The  figure  of  varying  repetition  itself,  which, 
used  with  moderation,  well  becomes  the  broad  flow  of  Ho- 
meric poetry,  had  been  transferred  by  the  English  epic  to  larger 
relations,  in  a  measure  translated  to  epic  proportions,  and  it 
thus  gave  birth  to  the  method  of  intersecting  moments,  which, 
whatever  may  be  its  merits,  certainly  does  not  excel  in  clear- 
ness. 

Nevertheless  the  style  of  the  Old  English  epos  yields  the 
general  impression  belonging  to  this  species  of  poetry.  The 
uniform,  stately  movement  of  the  rhythmical  language,  the 
broad,  formula -like  periods,  which  recur  especially  at  the 
designation  of  time  or  of  the  beginning  of  a  speech,  the  fond 
lingering  over  details,  the  exhaustive  description  of  occur- 
rences that  are  not  essential  to  the  action — all  this  is  strik- 
ingly suggestive  of  Homer.  But  the  lack  in  the  Old  Eng- 
lish epic  of  the  clearness  and  fine  completeness  of  the  Ho- 
meric, is  at  least  partially  made  good  by  the  greater  direct- 
ness of  expression.  The  poet's  excitement  is  not  seldom  im- 
parted to  the  listener ;  in  situations  that  seem  to  justify  it,  this 
is  very  effective.  Thus  the  portrayals  of  battles,  although  in- 
finitely poorer  in  cast  and  artistic  grouping,  although  much 
less  reahstic  than  the  Homeric  descriptions,  are  yet,  at  times, 
superior  to  them,  in  so  far  as  the  demoniac  rage  of  war  elic- 
its from  the  Germanic  fancy  a  crowding  affluence  of  vigorous 
scenes,  hastily  projected,  in  glaring  lights  or  grim  half-gloom, 
and  makes  us  feel  as  if  we  were  in  the  midst  of  the  tumult. 
Nor  must  we  forget  that  the  modes  of  expression  we  have 
tried  to  analyse,  are  in  a  high  degree  adapted  to  the  elegiac 
mood,  which  only  too  often  flowed  from  the  soft  melancholy 
of  the  Old  English  temperament,  and  which  readily  led  to 
digression  and  reflection.  They  are  also  appropriate  to  the 
presentation  of  tragic  situations. 

This  style  is  to  the  Homeric  what  the  Old  English  he- 
roic verse  is  to  the  Greek  hexameter.  It  is  based  upon  a 
measure  which  belonged  to  the  antiquity  of  all  Germanic 
races ;  namely,  the  line  with  eight  emphatic  syllables,  divided 


22  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

into  equal  parts  by  the  caesura.  This  verse  was  of  venerable 
origin,  being  most  probably  an  heirloom  from  the  Indo-Eu- 
ropean time,  and  was  likewise  much  used  in  classical  antiq- 
uity, where  it  developed  several  varieties,  the  purest  of  which 
was  the  iambic  tetrameter. 

The  peculiarities  of  versification  common  to  the  Teutonic 
races  are :  firstly,  the  metrical  law,  by  which  accent  in  lan- 
guage and  arsis  in  verse  must  coincide ;  secondly,  liberty  to 
leave  out  the  thesis  between  two  arses ;  thirdly,  the  use  of 
alliteration,  which  affects  the  most  emphatic  syllables  of  the 
line,  two  in  the  first  and  one  in  the  second  section,  and  indi- 
cates the  unity  of  the  verse,  at  the  same  time  making  promi- 
nent the  ideas  ofchief  importance. 

But  while  faithfully  obeying  the  general  laws  of  rhythm  and 
aUiteration,  the  English  epos  did  not  hold  itself  bound  at  all 
punctiliously  to  the  original  scheme  of  verse.  Cases  are  very 
frequent  in  which  the  line — chiefly  in  the  second  half,  but 
also  in  the  first — falls  short  of  the  legal  number  of  ictus. 

Nor  is  there  an  Old  Enghsh  writer  on  rhythmic  art  to  ex- 
plain how  metre  and  rhythm  are  to  be  brought  into  unison. 
Some  recent  students  of  English  metre,  however,  not  consid- 
ering the  difference  between  the  two,  and  wanting  a  broader 
historical  view,  have  presented  theories  on  the  Old  English 
verse  that  leave  its  later  development  quite  unexplained, 
and,  what  is  worse,  often  ascribe  to  it  an  easy,  springing 
gait,  entirely  opposed  to  its  true  character. 

For  this  measure  moves  majestically  on  with  impassioned 
emphasis,  clinging  most  closely  to  the  subject-matter;  each 
syllable  is  uttered  with  force.  The  sentence  rarely  closes 
with  the  ending  of  the  verse  ;  it  cftener  ends  with  the  caesura, 
where  the  joining  of  a  new  thought  is  frequently  determined 
by  the  alliteration,  since  one  of  the  conspicuous  words  of  the 
verse  suggests  by  relationship  or  contrast  of  meaning  another 
of  the  same  initiatory  sound. 

j  Thus  we  here  meet  the  same  phenomena  as  in  the  poetical 
Btyle :  a  lack  of  connectives  and  fine  finish ;  a  great  promi- 
;nence  given  to  single  conceptions  and  ideas ;  an  effect  sen- 
jsuously  strong,  but  not  harmonious.  The  whole  gives  the 
impression  of  a  union  of  deep,  glowing  passion  and  a  certain 
unwieldiness. 


5E0WA  AND  BEOWULF.  23 

III. 

Widsith,  who  was  in  Italy  with  Alboin,  must  have  "  spoken  " 
when  the  immigration  of  the  German  tribes  into  England 
had  virtually  ceased.  If  his  reminiscences  reach  back  to 
a  period  when  the  English  still  dwelt  in  their  original  home, 
if,  generally  speaking,  the  personages  who  appear  in  his  nar- 
ration, even  when  they  are  brought  into  mutual  relation, 
partly  belong  to  very  diverse  times,  this  merely  proves  that 
Widsith  is  a  typical  figure :  the  wandering  glee-man  of  the 
German  hero-age.  But  if,  in  the  enumeration  of  peoples, 
the  position  as  to  the  primitive  abode  of  the  English  is  au- 
thoritative, this  may  perhaps  be  explained  only  by  the 
theory  that  the  ground-work  of  the  poem  really  descends 
from  this  early  age,  and  that  consequently  it  was  not  com- 
posed by  a  single  poet,  but  grew  up  gradually;  no  account  is 
here  taken  of  the  interpolations  added  by  an  English  writer 
in  the  Christian  time,  and  which  criticism  has  eliminated. 

The  same  conclusions  hold  good  with  regard  to  all  extant 
remains  of  the  Old  English  epic. 

In  the  first  quarter  of  the  sixth  century,  when,  according- 
ly, a  part  of  the  English  races  were  grappling  with  the 
Britons  in  bloody  strife  (a  greater  part  still  dwelt  in  Ger- 
many), there  happened  in  the  coast-lands  of  the  North  and 
Baltic  seas  a  series  of  events  which  powerfully  seized  the 
imagination  of  the  coast -dwellers.  One  event  above  all 
created  a  wide-spread  sensation.  In  the  years  512-520 
Hygelac,  king  of  the  Geats  (from  the  modern  Götaland  in 
the  south  of  Sweden),  undertook  a  plundering  expedition  to 
the  lower  Rhine.  Thereupon  Theudebert,  the  son  of  the 
Frankish  king  Theuderich,  advanced  against  him  with  an 
army  of  Franks  and  Frisians.  A  fierce  battle  ensued  which 
sacrificed  many  lives  on  both  sides;  but  the  victory  remained 
with  the  Franks.  Hygelac  fell,  his  army  was  destroyed  both 
on  land  and  water,  and  the  booty  already  upon  the  ships 
•  was  regained  by  the  enemy.  In  this  battle  a  vassal  and  rel- 
ative of  Hygelac  distinguished  himself  beyond  all  others, 
especially  by  the  boldness  with  which  he  finally  effected  his 
retreat.  He  seems  to  have  been  a  man  of  gigantic  physical 
strength,  and  a  skilled  swimmer.  The  fame  of  this  battle, 
and  the  glory  of  this  thegn,  resounded  far  and  wide  among 


24  BEFORE   THE   CONQUEST 

the  Geats,  Island  Danes  and  Angles  on  both  sides  of  the  sea 
that  separates  the  Cimbrian  peninsula  from  the  Swedish  main- 
land. The  deeds  of  Hygelac's  nephew,  the  son  of  Ecgtheow, 
were  celebrated  in  songs.  Gradually  this  hero-figure  grew  to 
mythical  proportions ;  he  entered  upon  the  inheritance  of 
demi-gods.  Beowulf,  the  son  of  Ecgtheow,  took  the  place 
of  Beowa,  the  vanquisher  of  Grendel. 

In  England,  whither  the  news  of  Beowulf  and  his  deeds 
was  borne,  presumably  by  Angles,  this  hero-saga  found  the 
soil  most  favourable  to  its  growth.  Here  the  myth  of  Beowa 
long  retained  its  vitality.  The  names  of  Beowa  and  Grendel 
were  given  to  hills  and  lakes  whose  position  and  surroundings 
were  suggestive  of  the  myth:  as  Beowan  hajnm  and  Grendles 
fnere,  with  the  West- Saxons  in  Wiltshire.  The  son  of  Ecg- 
theow was  also  celebrated  in  England  as  the  conqueror  of 
Grendel,  as  the  fighter  of  the  dragon. 

Beowulf  became  the  subject  of  epic  song. 

This  song  primarily  involved  the  two  principal  events  of 
the  Beowa  myth:  the  struggle  with  Grendel  and  the  fight 
with  the  dragon.  The  scene  of  the  first  act  was  laid  upon 
the  island  of  Seeland,  the  throne-seat  of  the  Danes ;^  of  the 
second,  in  Beowulf's  country  among  the  Geats. 

Hrothgar,  Healfdene's  son,  has  built  for  himself  a  great  and 
splendid  hall,  which  bears  the  name  Heorot,  or  hart,  from  its 
gable-omament.  Here  he  sits  with  his  warriors  upon  the 
mead-bench,  and  dispenses  gifts  to  them;  here  the  heroes  re- 
joice in  the  music  of  harp  and  song.  A  monster  that  dwells 
in  the  fens — it  is  Grendel — comes  to  disturb  this  pleasure. 
Every  night  he  forces  his  way  into  the  hall,  seizes  a  number 
of  the  sleeping  thegns,  and  bears  them  hence,  a  bloody  prey, 
to  his  subterranean  dwelling.  Vain  are  the  efforts  to  avert 
the  terror.  Thus  the  richly  decked  hall  stands  uninhabita- 
ble and  useless.  This  comes  to  the  knowledge  of  Beowulf. 
He,  with  fourteen  chosen  Geats,  crosses  the  sea  to  rid  Hroth- 
gar of  his  enemy.  He  is  cordially  received  by  the  king,  and, 
in  the  evening,  revels  with  him  and  his  warriors  in  the  hall. 
At  night-fall  the  Danes  forsake  the  hall;  Beowulf  and  his 
Geats  dispose  themselves  there  to  rest.  Then  Grendel  comes 
stalking  on.     He  beholds  the  slumbering  heroes,  and  at  once 

>  Historical  relations  between  öeats  and  Island  Danes  may  have  given  rise  to  this 
location  of  the  saga. 


BEOWULF.  25 

kills  one  of  them.  Then  he  tries  to  seize  Beowulf;  but  the 
latter,  stretching  forth  his  right  hand,  clutches  him,  and  the 
monster  forthwith  perceives  the  superhuman  strength  of  the 
hero.  Grendel  seeks  to  flee,  but  Beowulf  clasps  him  so  firm- 
ly that,  after  a  desperate  struggle,  he  barely  escapes  with  the 
loss  of  an  arm,  and  wounded  to  the  "death.  Thus  is  Heorot 
cleansed.  In  public  token  of  the  victory,  the  hero  places 
Grendel's  arm  and  shoulder  under  the  great  vaulted  roof. 

In  the  second  part  we  see  Beowulf  an  old  man.  For 
many  years  after  the  death  of  Hygelac  he  has  ruled  over 
the  Geats,  and  now  himself  stands  at  the  end  of  his  glorious 
life.  He  is  impelled  to  undertake  a  last  difficult  contest. 
A  fire-spewing  dragon,  which  guards  an  immense  treasure  in 
a  rocky  cavern  near  the  sea,  is  to  be  subdued. 

With  eleven  companions  Beowulf  betakes  himself  to  the 
spot  where  the  monster  has  his  lair,  commands  his  men  to 
stay  back,  strides  to  the  cave,  and  loudly  calling,  challenges 
the  enemy  to  the  struggle.  The  dragon  springs  out,  the 
strife  begins.  Beov/ulf's  sword  glances  off  from  the  scale- 
armor  of  his  antagonist.  Enraged,  the  dragon,  spurting  fire, 
presses  upon  Beowulf.  Beowulf  covers  himself  with  his  im- 
penetrable shield,  and  strikes  out  a  second  time.  His  retain- 
ers see  the  danger  in  which  he  is,  but  hide  themselves  like 
cowards.  One  only,  Wiglaf,  Weohstan's  son,  hastens  to  the 
help  of  his  lord.  His  shield  shrivels  before  the  fire-breath 
of  the  dragon ;  he  springs  behind  the  shield  of  Beowulf,  who 
or.ce  more  cuts  at  the  enemy.  His  swordg^^tters.  Fu- 
riously the  dragon  springs  upon  him,  and  saj^Bhim  by  the 
throat,  poisoning  his  blood  with  his  sharp  bit^^Then  Wig- 
laf thrusts  his  sword  into  the  belly  of  the  beast,  so  that  it 
sinks  back.  Beowulf  draws  the  knite  that  hangs  at  his  corse- 
let, and  divides  the  Avorm  in  the  middle.  The  enemy  is 
vanquished,  the  treasure  won,  but  the  aged  hero  himself  is 
wounded  to  death.  He  feasts  his  eyes  on  the  conquered 
treasures  which  Wiglaf  brings  forth  to  him,  gives  the  young 
warrior,  with  his  last  wishes,  his  helmet,  collar,  and  corse- 
let, then  dies.  Wiglaf  bev/ails  his  death,  reproaches  the 
cowards  who  left  the  battle-lord  in  his  distress,  and  has  the 
news  of  Beowulf's  death  borne  to  the  royal  abode.  Accord- 
ing to  the  last  command  of  their  ruler,  the  Geats  burn  his 
corpse,  and  place  his  ashes  with  rings  and  jewels  in  a  mound 
which  is  visible  from  afar  to  the  sea-farers:  Hrones-naes. 


26  BEFORE  THE  CONQUESt. 

To  this  germ  were  gradually  joined  several  appendages, 
derived  partly  from  mythical,  partly  from  historical  sources, 
or  from  the  analog}^  of  related  sagas.  In  the  first  place  the 
struggle  with  Grendel's  mother  was  appended,  as  a  variation, 
to  the  struggle  with  Grendel.^  She  comes  to  avenge  her  son 
and  thereupon,  pursued  to  her  subaqueous  dwelling  by  Beo- 
wulf, succumbs  to  a  like  fate.  Many  inequalities  in  the 
transmitted  text  show  plainly  how  a  single  event  has  been  dif- 
ferentiated to  two  which  in  the  poetic  conception  v/ere  some- 
times blended.  Beowulf's  return  from  Heorot  to  Geataland, 
and  his  reception  by  Hygelac  were  also  sung.  Other  features 
of  Beowulfs,  Hrothgar's,  and  Hygelac's  lives  v.-ere  added, 
accounts  of  their  ancestors,  and  of  battles  v.-hich  they  fought. 
Detailed  description,  the  broader  configuration  of  episodic 
personages,  enlivened  the  portrayal.  All  this  was  borne  by 
the  stream  of  epic  song,  as  vvcU  as  a  mass  of  other  traditions 
that  belonged  to  the  same  cycle  of  sagas,  and  was  connected 
more  or  less  closely  with  the  Beowulf  epos. 

Into  the  midst  of  this  development,  which  went  on  during 
the  second  half  of  the  sixth,  and  the  following  century,  came 
now  the  promulgation  of  Christianity. 

Its  introduction  was  an  event  of  most  far-re?.ching  and 
potent  influence,  which,  however,  was  mitigated  by  its  very 
gradual  accomplishment,  and  revealed,  and  stili  reveals,  its 
true  significance  only  in  the  lapse  ^f  centuries.  Every  new 
principle  can  take  root  only  by  joining  and  accommodating 
itself  to  what  is  already  established.  fChristian  missionaries 
in  all  times  have  deferred  to  customs  and  opinions  as  they 
found  them,  and  in  greater  degree  as  their  position  and  task 
were  more  difficult.  Especial  consideration  was  necessary 
in  the  English  states,  where  the  new  doctrine  was  not  trans- 
mitted to  Germans  through  a  Romanic  population,  where  no 
coercion  of  foreign  arms  forced  it  upon  them,  but  where, 
with  the  aid  of  native  folk-kings,  a  few  missionaries  had  to 
accomplish  the  conversion  of  the  land.  Here  the  foreign 
elements  made  themselves  felt  at  first  only  in  church,  clois- 
ter, and  school.     On  the  whole,  the  national  customs  and 

•  The  story  of  Beowulfs  victory  over  both  water-demons  seems,  at  a  later  period,  to 
have  become  known  to  the  Norse  invaders  of  England,  and  through  them,  to  have 
found  its  way  to  Iceland.  In  this  manner  I  am  inclined  to  account  for  the  striking  re- 
seniblance  between  p.irts  of  liic  Old  English  poer.!  :u-,d  the  Icelandic  Grettis-saga,  to 
which  attention  has  been  called  since  the  appearance  of  the  original  text  of  this  volume 


BEOWULF  IN  WRITING.  27 

speech  remained  dominant,  and  with  them  the  taste  for  the 
national  songs.  Neither  the  kings  nor  their  thegns  would 
have  hked  to  deny  them.selves  the  hearing  of  the  old  chants 
of  their  glee-men,  in  the  mead-hall,  as  of  old.  Thus  the 
English  epos  Ijved  on  ;  thus  Beowulf  and  his  deeds  were  not 
lost  to  song,  '  (Naturally,  what  reminded  directly  of  pagan- 
ism was  gradually  set  aside,  and  much  was  toned  down  in 
manner  and  expression.  But  the  proportion  and  symmetry 
of  the  whole  underwent  no  change;  no  Christian  vestment 
was  thrown  over  the  epic  hero.) 

If  the  speeclies  placed  in  the' mouth  of  this  or  that  person- 
age were  at  times  m.odified  by  Christian  opinions,  if  one  or 
another  singer  added  pious  reflections  to  his  narrative,  still 
the  primitive  tone  was  preserved  with  the  primitive  subject- 
matter. 

In  the  mean  time  writing  as  an  ordinary  vehicle  of  thought 
had  been  introduced  into  England;  a  Latin  literature  had 
sprung  up,  which  was  soon  followed  by  attempts  iii  the  ver- 
nacular. The  popular  songs  likewise  began  to  be  put  into 
writing.  What  tradition  retained  of  Bcoivulf  was  written 
down  with  much  tliat  had  only  a  remoter  relation  to  it; 
what  the  writer  heard  from  others  and  what  lived  in  his  own 
memory  were  put  together  and  ordered  and  combined  as 
well  as  possible.  Hence  discrepancies  in  details  were  inevit- 
able; variations  of  the  same  theme  were  sometimes  set  beside 
each  other.  The  Sßrjb«  himself  interfered  as  composer: 
sometimes  to  do  away  with  inequalities,  to  fill  gaps,  to  give 
a  motive  to  disconnected  [»assages,  or,  as  he  was  generally  an 
ecclesiastic,  to  show  his  Christian  erudition.  Grendel,  and 
with  him  all  giants  and  elves,  descend  from  Cain,  according 
to  the  interpolator;  the  Dane-king  and  his  people  are  once 
commiserated  on  account  of  their  paganism,  and  the  like. 
Thus  the  text  of  Beowulf  took,  about  the  close  of  the  seventh 
or  the  beginning  of  the  eighth  century,  substantially  the 
shape  in  which  it  has  come  down  to  us.  To  later  transcrib- 
ers it  probably  owes  little  besides  modernisation  of  language 
and  verbal  corruptions. 

Here  then  appeared  for  the  first  time  the  epos  oi  Beowulf 
as  a  tangible  whole;  a  whole,  in  truth,  which,  when  we  call 
it  an  epos,  we  may  not  compare  with  the  Iliad  or  with  the 
French  Song  of  Rolaiid.     The  action  not  only  lacks  the  re- 


28  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

quislte  unity  to  justify  such  a  comparison,  but  (which  is 
most  relevant)  no  true  hero-saga  of  grand,  national,  historical 
importance  has  developed  from  the  mythical  germ.  Only 
the  personages  and  the  episodes  belong  to  history  or  the 
hero-saga.  The  main  action  lies  yet  entirely  in  the  region 
of  myth.  Even  that  theme  which  first  kindled  the  epic  flame, 
Beowulf's  deeds  in  battle  against  Theudebert,  is  treated  as  a 
mere  accessory. 

We  have  thus  in  Beowulf  a  half-finished  epos,  as  if  be- 
numbed in  tlie  midst  of  its  growth.  The  introduction  of 
Christianity  was  doubtless  one  of  the  causes  that  destroyed 
the  productive  power  of 'epic  poetry.  The  vital  continuity  of 
mythical  tradition  was  interrupted;  new  material  and  new- 
ideas  came  gradually  to  the  foreground  in  the  nation's  mind. 
The  elements  which,  though  developed  simultaneously  with 
the  epos,  as  we  have  seen,  bore  the  germs  of  the  decay  of 
the  epic  style,  were  greatly  increasing;  viz.,  the  inclination 
to  reflection,  to  elegiac  tenderness.  Besides  this,  the  found- 
ing of  a  literature  raised  a  barrier  between  the  learned  and 
and  the  unlearned.  But  even  had  Christianity  and  literature 
not  been  introduced,  Beowulf  \^o\Adi  hardly  have  become  an 
English  Iliad.  Such  poems  arise  only  among  nations  that 
victoriously  maintain  ideals  of  higher  culture  against  inimi- 
cal forces. 

If  Beowulf  is  no  national  poem  and  no  epos  in  the  strict 
.sense,  taking  matter  and  composition  into  account,  yet  as  re- 
gards style  and  tone,  character  and  customs,  it  is  both  in  a 
high  degree;  and  it  is  not  without  significance  that  a  poem 
stands  at  the  head  of  English  literature  whose  subject  is  the 
struggle  with  the  waves,  and  which  is  permeated  by  a  vivid 
perception  of  the  sea  and  of  sea  life. 

A  great  wealth  of  poetic  feeling  is  revealed  in  this  poem. 

We  are  charmed  by  pictures  of  external  things  and  actions 
delineated  with  most  realistic  freshness,  and  epic  minuteness. 
Beowulf's  voyage  to  Dane-land,  his  meeting  with  the  strand- 
watch,  his  reception  at  court,  then  the  struggle  with  Grendel 
and  Grendel's  mother,  the  gloomy,  mysterious  aspect  of  the 
sea  upon  whose  bottom  stands  Grendel's  dwelling,  illumined 
by  a  subterranean  glow,  these  and  similar  scenes  are  de- 
picted by  a  master  hand. 

The  characters  also  appear  before  us  in  clear  outlines.     It 


THEME  OF  BEOWULF.  29 

is  true  they  are  most  simple,  and  are  all  of  the  same  mould. 
No-  great  art  is  necessary  to  lay  bare  the  springs  of  their  ac- 
tions. We  learn,  however,  to  feel  for,  and  with  them,  and 
some  of  them  compel  our  admiration.  With  all  their  sim- 
plicity, they  are  ennobled  by  the  moral  passion  which  pervades 
them.  A  profound  and  serious  conception  of  what  makes 
man  great,  if  not  happy,  of  what  his  duty  exacts,  testifies  to 
the  devout  spirit  of  English  paganism,  a  paganism  which  the 
Christian  doctrine  certainly  softened,  but  did  not  transform 
in  its  innermost  nature.  The  ethical  essence  of  this  poetry 
lies  principally  in  the  conception  of  manly  virtue,  undismay- 
ed courage,  the  stoical  encounter  wi*"h  death,  silent  submission 
to  fate,  in  the  readiness  to  help  others,  in  the  clemency  and 
liberality  of  the  prince  toward  his  thegns,  and  the  self-sacri- 
ficing loyalty  with  which  they  reward  him.  The  following 
passages  will  illustrate  some  of  the  qualities  mentioned.  Beo- 
wulf finds  himself  in  extreme  danger  in  the  fight  with  the 
dragon : 

His  comrades  gathered  not  in  a  group  about  him, 
The  sons  of  Aethelings ;  they  stood  not  by  him 
With  martial  virtues.     They  fled  in  the  forest; 
There  hid  for  life.     But  one  in  his  heart  by  grief 
Was  stirred :  for  naught  may  set  aside 
The  weal  of  kindred  in  one  who  tliinketh  well. 
"Wiglaf  was  he,  son  of  Weohstan, 
The  dear  shield-bearer,  chief  of  the  Scylfings, 
Aelfhere's  kinsman.     He  saw  his  king 
Suffering  heat  under  his  helmet,  and  then 
He  thought  of  the  good  things  granted  him  by  his  liege: 
A  wealthy  estate  of  the  Waegmundings, 
Folk-rights  all  as  his  father  had  them. 
Then  could  he  not  hold  back;  his  hand-shield  broad 
Of  yellow  linden  seized  he.     And  he  drew  his  sword — 
The  ancient  heirloom,  deemed  by  men  Eanmund's  legacy, 
Son  of  Ohthere  .  .  .  .^ 
Also: 

He  rushed  through  the  reek  of  death;  to  the  help 

Of  his  lord  he  bore  the  battle-boss,  and  spoke 

A  few  words  :  ' '  Beowulf,  do  all  well 

As  thou  saidst  of  yore  in  thy  youth,  thou  wouldst 

Not  let  thy  fame  sink  in  thy  life. 

O  strong  in  deeds,  brave  lord,  with  all  thy  strength 

Defend  thou  here  thy  life !     I  will  help  thee."  ^ 

1  v.  2596-2612.  Wiglaf  was  descended  from  the  race  of  Wsegmundings,  whose 
o»[ginal  seat  was  in  Geataland  ;  but  he  was  probably  born  in  Sweden,  at  the  time  his 
father  Weohstan  served  the  Swedish  king  Onela;  this  explains  the  designation,  "chief 
of  the  Scylfings,"  applied  to  him  in  v.  2603. 

»  y.  «661-2668. 


f 


30  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

And  further  the  account  of  Beowulf's  end.  At  his  com- 
mand Wiglaf  has  gathered  together  the  treasure  of  the  slaugh- 
tered dragon,  and  brings  it  to  him : 

Bearing  the  hoard  there  found  he  the  far  famed  king, 

His  lord,  all  bloody,  lying  at  life's  end. 

He  began  to  sprinkle  the  prince  again 

With  water,  until  the  word's  point  from  the  coffer 

Of  the  breast  broke  through;  Beowulf  spake, 

As  he  gazed  with  grief  upon  the  gold: 

"I  thank  with  words  the  Ruler  of  all  things, 

The  King  of  Light,  the  everlasting  Lord, 

For  the  hoard  on  which  I  here  do  look, 

That  it  was  granted  me  to  gain  such  riches 

For  my  dear  people,  ere  my  death-day  came. 

I  have  now  bought  this  hoard  of  jewels 

By  laying  down  mine  aged  life;  so  grant 

Ye  now  the  people's  needs ;  for  I  may  be 

Here  no  longer.     Have  the  battle-heroes 

Build  a  mound,  gleaming  after  the  burning, 

On  a  cliff  by  the  shore.     It  shall,  a  memorial 

To  my  people,  tower  high  on  Hrones-nces — 

So  that  sea-farers  seeing  call  it  Beowulf's  mount, 

Who  drive  afar  their  keels  o'er  the  mists  of  the  floods." 

Then  the  dauntless  king  undid  from  his  neck 

The  glittering  golden  ring;  he  gave  to  his  thegn. 

The  young  spear-hero,  the  gold-hued  helmet. 

The  collar  and  armour,  and  bade  him  use-  them  well ; 

"  Thou  art  the  last  of  our  lineage,  last 

Of  the  Weegmundings.     Death  hath  driven 

All  my  kindred,  the  earls  in  their  might, 

To  their  fate.     I  must  follow  them."  l 

Only  a  few  short  fragments  of  the  English  epos  besides 
Beowulf  have  been  preserved.  We  take  up  first  the  frag- 
ment of  the  Battle  of  Finnsburg. 

The  connection  in  which  this  belongs  becomes  clear  only 
when  we  compare  it  with  a  song  in  Beowulf  v*hich  one  of 
Hrothgar's  glee-men  sings  at  Heorot  the  day  after  the  victory 
over  Grendel.  Sixty  Danes  led  b)^  Hnaef  and  Hengest  are 
attacked  by  Finn,  the  king  of  the  Frisians,  in  his  own  castle. 
Hnaef  falls  in  the  contest,  but  the  Danes  defend  themselves 
with  heroism  for  five  days.  Finn  loses  nearly  all  of  his  men, 
as  well  as  his  sons  and  brothers-in-law.  At  last  a  treaty  is 
brought  about.  Hnasf's  corpse  is  burnt  with  great  solemni- 
ties, of  which  there  is  a  circumstantial  account  in  Beowulf? 

»  v.  2 788-2 Si 6. 
«  V.  1068  et  seq. 


BATTLE  OF  FINNSBURG.  31 

But  the  peace  is  not  lasting.  Nemesis  does  not  rest  until 
the  bloody  deed  has  begotten  new  deeds  of  blood.  The 
complications  terminate  only  with  the  deaths  of  Hengest  and 
Finn. 

>The  fragment  takes  us  into  the  midst  of  the  struggle  at 
Finnsburg,  whose  issue  and  results  are  related  in  Beowulf. 

The  narrative  is  extraordinarily  poetical,  vigorous,  and  ani- 
mated. Indeed  the  Old  English  writings  are  distinguished 
by  such  descriptions  of  battle.  At  the  beginning  of  the 
fragment  is  a  speech  of  Hengest  as  follows: 

Then  cried  the  king,  young  in  battle:  "This  dawns  not  from  the 
east  hither;  nor  flies  a  dragon  here;  yet  burn  not  the  liorns  of  this  hall; 
but  they  come  to  surprise  us.  The  birds  sing;  the  cricket  chirps  ;  the 
war-wood  sounds ;  shield  answers  to  shaft.  Now  the  full  moon  shines 
under  clouds ;  now  deeds  of  woe  arise,  which  the  hate  of  this  folk  is 
minded  to  do.  But  arouse,  my  warriors,  lift  up  your  hands;  think  of 
your  strength;  fight  in  the  fore-rank,  be  of  courage!  " 

The  battle  rages.  More  than  one  hero  covers  the  ground. 
"The  raven  wandered  swart  and  sallow-brown.  Sword- 
gleam  stood,  as  if  Finnsburg  were  all  on  fire." 

While  this  epic  fragment  belongs  with  Beowulf  to  the 
saga-cycle  of  the  North  and  Baltic  sea-coast  region,  the  two 
fragments  of  Waldere  betoken  the  community  of  thought 
which,  in  German  antiquity,  united  the  most  diverse  tribes  be- 
longing to  that  great  race.  These  are  the  remains  of  an 
epos  celebrating  the  well-known  Walther  of  Aquitaine,  and 
the  version  of  the  saga,  followed  here,  is  essentially  the 
same  as  that  of  the  Latin  poem  of  Ekkehard  of  St.  Gall, 
written  about  two  hundred  years  later,  /.  <?.,  in  the  first  half 
of  the  tenth  century. 

Besides  other  treasures,  Walther  has  carried  off  Hildgund 
{IIildgif6),  betrothed  to  him  from  earliest  youth,  from  At- 
tila's  court  where  they  were  tarrying  as  hostages.  Upon  the 
way  home  he  is  attacked  in  the  Vosges  by  Günther  ( Gil6here) 
and  his  warriors,  among  whom  is  Hagen,  Walther's  boy- 
comrade.  He  fights  them  and  is  victorious.  The  fragments 
partially  fill  out  both  pauses  coming  betv/een  the  three  phases 
of  the  contest :  Ekkehard  gives  only  two.  Single  traits  be- 
tray an  independent  amplification  of  the  legend,  from  which 
we  may  conclude  that  it  circulated  early  among  the  English 
tribes.     They  show  also  the  popularity  which  the  legends  of 


32  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

Weland  and  Theodoric  enjoyed,  both  among  Angles  and 
Saxons.  The  Enghsh  tradition  of  Theodoric  places  him  in 
close  relation  to  Weland's  son  Widia,  who  is  called  "  Wudga" 
in  the  Widsith-poem. 

What  is  preserved  to  us  of  the  Old  English  epic  grants 
but  a  very  inadequate  insight  into  the  history  of  its  develop- 
ment, but  leaves  us  to  imagine  the  greatness  of  the  loss  which 
we  have  here  to  deplore.  And  yet  how  rich  may  English 
literature  deem  itself  in  this  respect  when  compared  with  the 
Old  High  German! 


IV. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  sixth  century,  the  conversion  of 
the  English  to  Christianity  was  begun  by  Roman  mission- 
aries. 

About  a  century  later  Christianity  was  acknowledged  as 
the  dominant  religion  in  all  the  Enghsh  states.  The  power 
of  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  as  ^''  Briianniaruin  arch- 
iepiscopus^^  was  firmly  established;  the  English  church  was 
most  intimately  united  with  the  papal  see.  This  had  cost 
some  struggles.  Besides  the  hostile  pagan  element,  there 
were  other  opponents  to  be  vanquished,  who  seemed,  at 
times,  still  more  dangerous.  In  the  Anglian  states  of  the 
north,  especially  in  Northumbria,  the  envoys  preaching  as 
delegates  from  Rome  met  missionaries  of  the  Irish  church. 
At  that  time  this  church  was  pre-eminent  for  religious  zeal 
and  erudition,  but  was  obnoxious  to  the  papacy  because  it, 
as  well  as  the  J3ritish  church,  referred  its  origin  to  apostolic 
times,  and  firmly  maintained  its  own  rite  and  independent 
organisation  against  the  eftbrts  proceeding  from  Rome  to  es- 
tablish the  unity  of  the  church.  By  the  aid  of  native  kings 
and  queens,  especially  through  the  vigorous  measures  of  the 
Northumbrian  king  Oswiu,  England  was  gained  for  Cathohc 
unity,  and  the  refractory  elements  were  subdued  or  set  aside. 
Nevertheless  a  liberal  and  truly  national  spirit  was  main- 
tained in  the  Enghsh  church,  and  has  survived  to  the  present 
day;  a  spirit  which  seemed  to  slumber  at  times,  but  only  to 
break  forth  again  with  renewed  vigor.  This  was  due  to  the 
political  public  spirit  always  powerful  in  England,  to  ihe  insu- 


ENGLISH  CHURCH.  33 

lar  exclusiveness  of  the  country,  perhaps,  also,  to  the  services 
which  the  EngHsh  princes  had  rendered  to  Rome,  and  to  the 
very  enthusiasm  for  the  greatness  of  the  church  and  for  the 
papacy  that  actuated  Angles  and  Saxons  soon  after  their 
conversion. 

Although  the  youngest  of  all  the  Christian  churches,  the 
English  began,  toward  the  close  of  the  seventh  century,  to 
signalise  itself  beyond  all  others.  In  no  country  of  the  world 
were  there  to  be  found  such  religious  zeal,  such  warmth  and 
depth  of  religious  sentiment,  sucii  a  superabundance  of  relig- 
ious feeling  as  in  the  English  parts  of  Britain.  Nowhere  was 
shown  such  piety  toward  the  papal  throne  and  the  grave  of 
the  apostles  Peter  and  Paul.  This  found  expression  in  pil- 
grimages, in  works  of  Christian  charity  and  of  asceticism,  in 
rich  gifts  to  the  church,  in  the  erection  and  endowment  of  a 
multitude  of  convents  for  men  and  for  women,  in  which  many 
princesses  of  royal  blood,  and  even  many  kings,  after  sudden 
renunciation  of  their  crown  and  the  world,  gave  themselves 
to  prayer  and  meditation;  but  above  all  it  was  manifest- 
ed in  missionary  work.  English  apostles  were  unweariedly 
active  among  the  still  pagan  German  tribes  on  the  continent. 
They  there  entered  into  the  inheritance  of  the  Irish  monks, 
whose  work  they  supplemented,  corrected,  duplicated.  Co- 
operating with  the  increasing  power  of  the  Carlovingian 
house  in  France,  they  labored  for  the  politico-religious  unity 
of  the  West,  among  them,  notably,  that  Winfrid  whom  the 
Germans  reverence  as  their  apostle. 

In  the  domain  of  literature  and  science  likewise,  the  Eng- 
lish church  began  to  overshadow  the  Irish,  from  which,  we 
must  concede,  it  had  learned  much,  and  which,  at  a  still 
later  period,  gave  to  the  world  in  John  Erigena,  a  thinker  of 
long  unequalled  boldness  and  independence.  In  the  monas- 
teries that  covered  England  and  formed  each  a  nucleus  of 
general  culture  for  the  surrounding  districts,  the  study  of  the- 
ology was  flourishing,  and  v/ith  it  the  study  of  those  sciences 
of  which  the  church  had  preserved  a  remnant  from  the  ruins 
of  the  Roman  empire,  and  which  she  transmitted  to  posteri- 
ty. When  classic  learning  had  almost  died  out  in  the  other 
countries  of  western  Europe,  or  was  no  longer  productive, 
as  in  Italy,  Angles  and  Saxons  increased  with  strenuous  in- 
dustry the  knowledge  gained  in  Rome  or  brought  to  them 

D 


34  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

by  learned  foreigners,  and  with  happy  talent  converted 
it  to  their  own  creations,  so  that  they  became  the  teachers 
of  their  teachers.  At  a  time  when  the  Italian  clergy  no  long- 
er knew  the  rules  of  classic  versification,  English  monks  and 
bishops  wrote,  and  English  nuns  read,  Latin  verses  beside 
which  the  verses  that  might  then  have  appeared  elsewhere 
seemed  almost  as  barbaric  as  they  themselves  appeared  be- 
side the  lines  of  a  Virgil  or  a  Horace.  Manuscripts  of  the 
works  :Ji.  classic  authors  that  men  began  to  neglect  in  other 
countries,  because  they  did  not  understand  them,  were  bought 
up  and  collected  by  English  pilgrims  to  Rome,  and  stored 
in  the  libraries  of  Kent,  Wessex,  and  Northumbria. 

Among  the  abodes  of  learned  culture  whose  light  then  il- 
lumined England,  a  few  were  conspicuous  for  their  influence. 
The  school  of  Canterbury,  which  owed  its  origin  to  Augustine, 
the  leader  of  the  first  Roman  mission,  gained  an  enhanced 
importance  when  the  archbishop,  Theodore  of  Tarsus  (668 
-690),  and  his  companion,  the  abbot  Hadrian,  there  diffus- 
ed a  knowledge  of  the  Greek  language.  From  the  school 
of  this  Hadrian  came  Aldhelm,  born  of  a  noble  West- Saxon 
line  about  650,  v»'hose  exhaurjtive  learning  and  poetic  attain- 
ment filled  his  contemporaries  and  posterity  with  admiration. 
Through  Aldhelm,  Malmesbury  abbey,  in  northern  Wessex, 
was  elevated  to  an  important  nursery  of  culture.  Here  he 
v.-as  first  active  as  monk,  and  later  as  abbot,  and  here  he  was 
buried  after  his  death  (709)  as  Bishop  of  Sherborne. 

The  Angle,  Biscop  Baduking  (called  Benedict  as  his  church 
name)  founded  in  Northumbria  the  closely  united  cloisters 
of  Wearrnouth  and  Jarrow,  whose  churches  he  caused  to  be 
erected  of  stone  in  the  Roman  manner  by  Gallic  masons, 
and  adorned  with  artistic  windows  and  pictures.  He  en- 
riched their  libraries  with  many  books  obtained  by  himself 
in  his  frequent  pilgrimages  to  Rome,  and  he  lent  an  ex- 
traordinary attraction  to  their  schools  in  the  papal  cantor 
whom  he  had  placed  there  as  teacher  of  the  art  of  singing. 
It  was  on  the  territory  of  the  house  of  Wearmouth  that  Beda 
was  born,  two  years  before  its  founding.  He  became  one 
of  the  first  pupils  of  Benedict  and  the  most  illustrious  of  all, 
and  he  later  continued  his  studies  under  the  guidance  of  Ceol- 
frid  at  Jarrow.  Beda  became  a  deacon  at  an  early  age,  and 
then  a  priest,  remaining  faithful  to  the  monastic  fife  and  to 


ALDHELM   AND    BEDA. 


35 


the  service  of  science.  In  the  seclusion  and  quiet  of  the 
home  monasteries,  especially  at  Jarrow,  he  displayed  that  ac- 
tivity of  authorship  which  made  his  name  renowned  far  be- 
yond the  borders  of  his  own  country,  and  to  which  only 
death  put  an  end  (735). 

Beda's  younger  friend,  Bishop  Ecgberht,  taught  in  the 
school  of  York.  His  aim  was  not  less  to  diffuse  learned  cult- 
ure than  to  restore  a  strict  church  disciphne,  and  he  founded 
a  rich  collection  of  books.  From  his  school  cam^c.  Alcuin, 
who  later  sought  a  second  home  in  the  Frankish  empire, 
where  he,  more  than  any  other,  helped  to  realise  the  great, 
plans  of  Charlemagne  for  the  promotion  of  learning  and  ed- 
ucation. 

The  first  florescence  of  English  culture  was  already  closing 
in  the  time  of  Alcuin.  Its  highest  splendour  is  associated 
with  the  two  names,  Aldhelm  and  Beda. 

Both  filled  with  the  same  enthusiasm  for  rehgion  and 
science,  both  possessed  of  exhaustive  learning,  both  firmly 
grounded  in  thg  soul  of  their  own  nationality,  and  yet  strong- 
ly attracted  to  antique  culture,  they  also  supplemented  each 
other  in  contrasts,  which  completely  set  forth  for  us  the  col- 
lective chp.racter  of  the  Christianity  of  old  England.  In 
such  an  antithesis,  Aldhelm  represents  what  we  might  call  the 
feminine,  Beda,  the  masculine  principle.  The  former,  gifted 
with  most  delicate  feeling  and  vivid  fancy,  more  versatile, 
more  pliant,  more  spiritual,  was  less  energetic,  less  produc- 
tive ;  the  latter,  conspicuous  for  clearness  and  simple  grandeur 
of  view,  less  gifted  as  a  poet,  explored  as  a  v/riter  of  prose 
the  realm  of  learning  in  every  direction. 

Aldhelm  celebrated  in  flowery,  at  times  bombastic  and  af- 
fected, prose  the  Praise  of  Virginity^  which  he  exemplified  by 
numerous  personages  from,  the  Bible  and  legends  of  the  saints 
[De  laudibiis  virginitaiis  slve  de  vlrginiiate  saiictonmi)  \  lie  also 
treated  the  same  subject  again,  and  more  happily,  with  slight 
modifications  of  material  and  arrangement,  in  well-constructed 
and  by  no  means  unpoetical  hexameters  [De  laicde  virgiuiini). 
He  further  wrote  a  hundred  poetical  enigmas  after  the  prec- 
edent of  Symposius,  but  with  wider  scope,  a  greater  absorp- 
tion in  his  subject,  and  sometimes  having  the  dignity  of 
an  impassioned  style.  They  may  be  compared  in  many 
respects  to  the  enigmas  of  Schiller,  and  also  to  some  of  the 


36  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

German  poet's  distichs.  He  intercalated  his  collection  of 
enigmas  in  a  prose  epistle  to  King  Aldferth  of  Northumbria, 
which  is  essentially  a  dialogue  on  the  hexameter  and  the  dif- 
erent  kinds  of  metrical  feet  [Episiola  ad  Acirciuni).  In  other 
poems  he  did  not  always  employ  quantitative,  but  merely 
rhythmical  verse  forms,  as  well  as  rhyme.  He  was  fond  of 
alliteration,  that  ornament  of  the  national  English  poetry,  and 
massed  it  at  times  very  effectively.  He  showed,  likewise,  a 
predüection  for  other  metrical  diversions,  especially  the  acros- 
tic and  telestich.  In  the  choice  of  his  material,  not  less  than 
in  the  manner  of  treating  it,  in  his  thoughtful  observation  of 
nature  and  human  feeling,  in  his  chaste  aversion  to  what  was 
gross  or  common,  in  his  leaning  to  amplification  and  poet- 
ical digression,  he  proves  an  intimate  relationship  with  that 
side  of  the  Old  English  national  character,  and  of  the  Old 
English  poesy  which  was  to  be  especially  developed  by  / 
Christianity :  tenderness  of  spirit  imbued  with  elegiac  feeling.  \ 
Aldhelm  is  said  to  have  been  an  excellent  musician  and  sing- 
er, and  one  of  the  finest  poets  in  the  vernacular,  one  who 
knew  how  to  condescend  to  the  people  and  to  transport  them. 
Some  poems,  ascribed  to  him  by  the  tradition  of  schools, 
were  sung  as  late  as  the  twelfth  century.  V/e  can  understand 
how  he  came  to  imitate,  in  his  Latin  poems,  certain  peculiar- 
ities of  the  national  versification,  which,  however,  are  often- 
times superfluous  and  disturbing  elements.  It  is  likewise 
conceivable  that  such  a  nature  often  bore  itself  with  poor 
grace  in  the  majestic  garb  of  Latin  prose. 

Beda  also  wrote  Latin  verses,  without  great  poetical  charm, 
it  is  true,  but  for  that  time  correct,  harmonious,  and  not 
without  taste.  Most  of  his  hymns  and  epigrams  have  been 
lost,  but  his  book  concerning  the  miracles  of  Saint  Cuthbert 
(Bishop  of  Lindisfarne,  died  687)  is  preserved.  Far  more  im- 
portant than  his  poetry,  in  scope  and  matter,  is  Beda's  prose. 
It  embraces  nearly  all  branches  of  the  learning  ofthat  time, 
and  in  all  departments  treated  by  him,  Beda  became  an  au- 
thority, often  consulted  down  to  the  later  Middle  Ages,  and 
not  in  his  own  country  alone.  His  exhaustive  commentaries 
upon  various  books  of  the  Scriptures,  as  well  as  his  homiUes, 
were  used  countless  times  by  later  theologists,  and  have  even 
yielded  material  for  poetry.  His  writings  on  natural  science, 
especially  his  work  on  cosmography,  De  natura  rerwn^  form- 


CHRISTIAN  POETRY.  37 

ed,  for  a  long  time,  a  mine  for  those  authors  to  whom  the 
way  to  older  sources  was  unknown  or  too  arduous.  He  oc- 
cupied himself  also  with  grammar,  rhetoric,  and  miCtre.  His 
book.  De  arte  metrica,  denotes  extensive  reading,  especially 
of  Virgil,  and  the  older  Christian  poets.  His  most  valuable 
works,  however,  are  those  pertaining  to  chronology  and  his- 
tory :  these  are  his  manuals  of  the  computation  of  time,  first 
the  sketch  De  tempo?'ibus,  then  the  exhaustive  work  De  tem- 
porum  ratio/ie,  to  which  is  annexed  a  chronicle  of  the  world; 
his  Aiartyi'ologiiim  /  his  Vita  beafonan  abbatuni  Wwemuthen- 
slum  et  Girvensiiim;  his  Life  of  St.  Ciithbert,  whose  miracles 
he  had  previously  sung  in  verse;. but  above  all,  his  Historia 
ecdesiastica  gentis  Angloriun.  The  last  work  is  in  five  books, 
and  brings  the  reader  down  to  the  year  713.  It  manifests  a 
love  of  truth,  a  diligence  in  the  collection  of  docum.ental 
material,  and  is  conspicuous  in  conception  and  style  for  an 
objectivity,  clearness,  and  simplicity  which  raise  it  high  above 
the  level  of  contemporary  historical  writings.  Thus  Beda, 
compared  with  Aldhelm,  embodies  the  energetic  working- 
pov/er,  the  positive,  historical  sense,  the  love  of  simplicity 
and  truth,  that  perhaps  form  the  determining  elements  in  the 
nobler  side  of  English  nationality. 

When  Beda  died,  a  Christian  poetry  had  already  bloomed 
in  the  English  language.  The  readiness  with  which  Angles 
and  Saxons  accepted  Christianity  (iVieicia  under  savage,  war- 
like kings  resisted  longest),  the  enthusiasm  with  which  they 
made  it  a  living  possession,  point  to  a  mental  disposition  that 
in  a  poetically  productive  epoch,  must  necessarily  lead  to  pre- 
mature attempts  to  embody,  in  a  poetic  form,  the  new  ideas, 
together  with  the  traditions  clinging  to  them.  It  is  prob- 
able that  even  before  English  scholars  had  begun  to  wrestle 
with  the  difficulties  of  Latin  versification,  English  singers  had 
turned  their  epic  speech  and  their  epic  measure  into  poems 
to  the  glory  of  God,  or  the  praise  of  biblical  heroes.  The  .^ 
same  hall  in  which  to-day  Beowulf's  fight  with  Grendel  or  \ 
the  attack  at  Finnsburg  were  sung,  might  resound  on  the 
morrow  with  songs  celebrating  the  six  days'  work  of  creation, 
and  taking  the  place  of  the  p^gan  cosmogonic  hymns.  The 
transition  to  the  new  materials  was  doubtless  easy  for  the 
glee-men.  Epithets  of  the  gods  and  hgroes  could  often,  with- 
out change,  or  with  only  slight  modification,  serve  for  the 


38  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

God  of  the  Christians,  or  for  the  patriarchs  and  saints.  God 
himself,  in  his  relation  to  angels  and  men,  was  conceived  as 
the  almighty  prince,  as  the  beloved  chieftain ;  the  devil,  as 
the  faithless  vassal  who  antagonises  his  gold-friend;  the  heav- 
enly throne  was  the  gift-stool  of  the  spirits.  In  like  manner 
the  relation  of  Christ  to  his  apostles  and  disciples  took  form 
in  the  popular  conception.  The  apostles  are  celebrated  in  a 
poem  of  the  eighth  century  as 

Twelve  heroes  famous  far  beneath  the  stars, 
Servants  of  God:   their  strength  did  yield  not 
When  they  hewed  in  battle  on  helmet-crest; 
Since  they  had  placed  themselves  as  God, 
Fven  the  high  King  of  heaven,  had  set  the  lot.» 

The  fevour  with  which  the  English  apprehended  the  feudal 
relation  prompted  its  transmission  into  a  higher  sphere,  and 
this,  in  turn,  caused  that  eartlily  relation  to  be  ennobled  and 
deepened.  The  superabundance  of  religious  sentiment  that 
was  a  concomitant  of  Christianity  as  well  as  of  the  English 
national  character,  found  a  convenient  medium  of  expression 
in  the  emotive,  passionate  quality  of  epic  diction,  in  the 
massing  of  synonymous  words  and  periods,  in  the  oscillation 
of  movement. 

It  may  be  supposed  that  the  religious  poetry,  by  the  em- 
ployment of  existing  vocables  for  new  conceptions,  by  the 
formation  of  new  verbal,  as  well  as  new  rhetorical  combina- 
tions, gradually  created  a  store  of  words,  a  phraseology,  which, 
although  abutting  closely  in  numberless  cases  on  that  of  the 
national  epic,  nevertheless  wa„s  distinctive  and  increased  in 
the  same  ratio  as  poetical  production  in  this  province. 
Even  new  figures  of  style  (although  in  meagre  number)  forc- 
ed their  way,  in  the  course  of  time,  from  tlie  Latin  into  the 
English  diction.  Scholars,  also,  as  shown  by  the  example 
of  Aldhelm,  cultivated  the  popular  poetry,  while  on  the  other 
hand,  a  glee-man  not  rarely  became  a  priest.  Ultimately 
many  sat  upon  the  benches  of  the  cloister  schools  who  later 
took  up  the  glee-man's  calling.  That  the  Christian  national 
poetry  in  England  was  in  no  way  first  called  into  life  by  the 
learned,  is  shown  by  its  genuine  popular  character  in  lan- 
guage and  verse,  and  the  near  relation  which  it  bore  to  the 
epos. 

'  AjidrtoSy  V.  2-6,  Bibliothek  dtr  a^^s.  Poesie,  II.  9. 


CAEDMON. 


39 


A  beautiful  legend  transmitted  to  us  by  Beda^  explains, 
in  its  own  way,  while  celebrating  the  earliest  Christian  poet 
of  England,  the  origin  of  this  new  style. 

In  the  second  half  of  the  seventh  century  there  lived  in 
the  vicinity 'of  the  monastery  of  Streoneshalh,^  in  Northum- 
bria,  a  man  named  Caedmon.  The  gift  of  song  was  denied 
him,  so  that  he  was  wont  to  rise  from  the  banquet  and  to  re- 
tire with  shamd  when  the  harpjn  its  circuit  was  about  to  reach 
him.  One, evening  after  such  an  occasion,  he  had  fallen  into 
slumber  in  the  ox-stable,  which  was  in  his  charge  that  night. 
Then  a  vision  appeared  to  him  in  his  dream,  and  a  voice 
commanded  him  to  sing  of  the  beginning  of  the  created  world. 
Thereupon,  Ca«dmon  began  a  song  to  the  gle«y  of  God,  and 
sang: 

Now  shall  we  glorify  the  guardian  of  heaven's  kingdom, 

The  Creator's  might,  and  the  thought  of  his  mind, 

The  deeds  of  the  Father  of  glory, — how  he  made  the  beginning 

Of  all  wonders,  the  everlasting  Lord: 

First  he  created  for  the  children  of  men 

The  heavens  as  a  roof,  the  holy  Creator; 

Then  the  middle  region,  the  Guardian  of  mankind, 

The  everlasting  Lord,  afterwards  established 

The  earth,  for  men,  the  almighty  Ruler.^ 

After  awaking,  Caedmon  repeated  all  this  and  added  more 
in  the  same  strain.  The  knowledge  of  the  miracle  that  had 
taken  place  soon  spread,  and  it  reached  the  monastery,  where 
Caedmon  gave  proof  of  the  gift  which  God  had  bestowed 

'  Historia  ecclcsiastica  getitis  Angloriiin,  IV,  c.  24.  The  same  legend  re-appears 
in  other  places  in  a  modified  form. 

*  Better  known  by  its  later  Danish  name  of  Whitby. 

3  The  original  is  found  at  the  end  of  an  old  manuscript  of  the  Hisioria  Ecclcsiastica. 
Beda  has  a  Latin  prose  version  in  his  text.  Aelfred,  however,  in  his  English  translation 
of  the  Ecclesiastical  History,  gives  Caedraon's  verses  again  vv-ith  but  slightly  deviat- 
ing meaning,  if  in  modified  writing.  I'he  Northumbrian  original,  as  well  as  Beda's 
prose,  are  subjoined: 

Nu  scylun  hergan  hcfsurlcxs  uard, 

Metud^s  majcti  end  his  niodgidanc. 

Were  uuldurfadur,  sue  he  uundra  gihua:s, 

Eci  dryctin,  or  aslelidae. 

He  aerist  scop  a;lda  baraum 

Heben  til  hrofe,  haleg  scepen  : 

Thä  middungeard  moncynnjes  uard, 

£ci  dryctin,  sefter  tiadie 

Firum,  foldu,  frea  allmectig. 
Nunc  laudare  debemus  auctorem  regni  coelesti.s,  potentla.'u  Creatoris  et  onsiünni 
illius,  facta  Patris  gloriae.  Quomodo  ille,  cum  sit  seteinus  Deus,  omnium  nüraculo- 
rum  auctor  exstitit,  qui  primo  filiis  hominum  coelum  pro  culniine  tecli,  dehinc  tenam 
custos  humani  generis  omnipotens  creavit.  On  the  authenticity  of  the  Northumbrian 
verses  see  Appendi.x  A. 


40  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

on  him.  Then  the  Abbess  Hild  took  him  into  the  cloister  to 
dwell,  and  bade  learned  men  narrate  to  him  the  Bible  history 
Everything  that  he  heard  from  them,  he  elaborated  and  trans- 
formed into  noble  songs,  so  that  his  teachers  became  in  turn 
his  listeners.  "Thus  sang  he,"  says  Beda,  "of  the  creation 
of  the  world  and  the  beginning  of  the  race  of  men,  and  all 
the  history  of  Genesis ;  of  the  Exodus  of  Israel  from  Egypt, 
and  the  entrance  into  the  promised  land;  of  many  other  sto- 
ries of  the  Holy  Scriptures ;  of  the  Incarnation  of  the  Lord, 
his  Passion,  Resurrection  and  Ascension;  of  the  coming  of 
the  Holy  Ghost,  and  the  teachings  of  the  apostles ;  also  of 
the  terrors  of  the  future  judgment,  of  the  horror  of  hell-pun 
ishment,  and  the  sweetness  of  the  heavenly  kingdom,  made 
he  many  songs ;  and  likewise  many  others  on  the  mercy  and 
judgment  of  God;  but  in  all  he  strove  to  draw  men  away 
from  the  love  of  sin,  and  to  incite  them  to  goodness." 

Drawing  epic,  lyrical,  didactic  matter  into  its  domain 
Caedmon's  poetry  seems,  according  to  Beda's  account,  to 
have  embraced  all  classes,  and  most  of  the  ranö;e  of  material 
to  which  the  Old  English  religious  poetry  is  in  any  sense  con 
genial.  The  question  is  pertinent  if,  of  the  numerous  works 
of  Caedmon,  nothing  besides  that  short  hymn  is  preserved; 
if  among  the  considerable  remnants  of  the  older  ecclesiastical 
literature,  the  majority  of  which  have  reached  us  without  the 
names  of  their  authors,  one  or  more  are  not  to  be  traced  to 
Caedmon.  To  this  inquiiy  there  is  no  satisfactory  answer. 
It  has  been  customary,  since  the  time  of  Junius,  to  connect 
the  poems  contained  in  the  Bodleian  manuscript,  Jun.  'XI., 
with  Caedmon's  name,  but  belief  in  the  authority  for  this 
has  been  more  and  more  abandoned.  In  the  course  of  time 
an  ever  greater  variety  of  elements  and  diversity  of  style  have 
been  discovered  in  the  contents  of  that  codex;  and  at  present 
hardly  any  one"  feels  justified  in  ascribing  even  a  part  of  it  to 
the  most  ancient  Christian  poet  of  England.  ^ 

Perhaps  the  combating  of  an  ill-founded  hypothesis  has 
even  gone  too  far,  and  negation  has  struck  a  too  dogmatical 
tone.  As  regards  the  most  extensive  and  leading  poem  of 
the  manuscript,  and  this  one  only,  it  is  quite  possible  that  a 
fragmentary  and  imperfectly  transmitted  v/ork  of  Caedmon 
lies  before  us;  a  work   mangled,  modernised  in  language, 

•  See  Appendix  A- 


THE  GENESIS.  4 1 

and  oftentimes  corrupted  in  details.  At  all  events,  this  poem 
might  correspond,  better  than  any  other,  with  the  conception 
that  we  must  form  of  the  Caedmonic  poetry  according  to 
Beda's  account,  which  probably  does  not  lack  an  historical 
basis.  In  spite  of  the  arguments  which,  in  more  recent  times, 
have  been  used  to  prove  the  contrary,  the  style  and  tone  bear 
the  mark  of  high  antiquity,  of  an  art  beginning,  and  not  per- 
chance decaying.  They  give  evidence  of  a  poet  who  belong-i, 
ed  to  a  time  of  epic  productiveness,  but  who,  himself,  may^* 
or  may  not  have  contributed  anything  to  the  national  epic. 
The  whole  treatment  is  such  as  we  might  presuppose  of  a 
man  who  transposed  into  English  verses  several  biblical  books, 
as  they  were  imparted  to  him  in  oral  instruction./  Finally 
nearly  all  the  expressions  that  occur  in  Caedmon's  short 
hymn  are  there  employed  repeatedly  and  with  decided  par- 
tiality, especially  the  favourite  phrases  for  the  designation 
of  the  God-head. 

The  poem  is  a  poetical  paraphrase  of  Genesis^  which  is 
preserved  only  as  far  as  the  sacrifice  of  Abraham,  and  is  brok- 
en by  several  gaps  due  to  mutilation,  partly  of  the  present 
manuscript,  and  partly  of  earher  texts.  The  most  important 
of  these  gaps,  which  already  existed  at  a  previous  stage  of 
the  transmission,  comprehended  the  story  of  the  fall  of  man. 
It  is  filled  in  rather  awkwardly  by  the  corresponding  parts  of 
a  later  poem  of  the  same  class.  As  the  more  modern  poet 
had  observed,  in  his  fuller  narrative,  a  different  and  more  ar- 
tistic plan  than  his  predecessor,^  the  reviser  v/as  called  upon 
to  strike  out  some  passages.  But  he  forbore  to  do  this,  and 
hence  the  same  motive  appears  with  differing  treatment  in 
two  rather  widely  separated  places.^ 

According  to  an  ancient  theological  view,  the  creation  of 
the  world,  as  described  in  the  account  of  tlie  six  days'  work, 
was  for  the  purpose  of  restoring  an  older  system  destroyed, 
by  the  revolt  of  the  angels. .  Man,  particularly,  was  destined 
to  fill  the  void  occasioned  in  heaven  by  the  fall  of  Lucifer  and 
his  followers.  There  is  connected  with  this  a  theory  of  the 
ten  (or  nine)  angel  hierarchies ;  especially  as  it  was  develop- 

1  The  younger  poet,  namely,  had  placed  the  account  of  the  creation  and  the  fall  of 
the  angels  between  God's  prohibition  to  the  fu-st  of  mankind  and  their  temptation  by 
the  serpent. — See  Appendix  A. 

2  The  fact  of  tlie  interpolation  in  this  case  is  not  made  less  sure  by  the  circumstance 
that  also  in  other  mediaeval  renderings  of  Genesis,  the  revolt  of  the  angels  is  twice  re- 
lated. 


42  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

ed  in  the  works  of  Gregory,  whence  it  spread  through  various 
channels  into  mediaeval  literature.  Caedmon  does  not  be- 
tray knowledge  of  such  views  in  his  hymn,  but  was  undoubt- 
edly made  acquainted  with  them  by  his  teachers  in  the  con- 
vent. However  this  may  be,  the  poet  of  the  older  Ge?iesis 
presents  a  doxological  opening,  glorifying  God  especially  as 
the  Creator  of  the  heavenly  abodes,  after  which  he  begins 
with  a  description  of  angelic  joys,  joined  to  a  powerful,  if 
somewhat  vague,  representation  of  the  fall  of  the  angels  and 
its  punishment.  The  sight  of  the  places  vacant  in  the  king- 
dom of  heaven  has  moved  God  to  create  the  world,  which 
brings  the  poet  to  the  beginning  of  the  biblical  Genesis. 

From  this  point  on.  Genesis  is  his  original,  which,  as  far  as 
we  can  see,  he  paraphrases  to  the  close  with  uniform  fidelity. 
He  displays  but  the  slightest  knowledge,  if  any,  of  apocry- 
phal writings.^  He  rarely  undertakes  omissions  and  abbre- 
viations of  the  biblical  narrative;  and  only  in  passages  that 
must  have  been  uninteUigible  to  Caedmon  and  the  majority 
of  his  contemporaries,  or  that  proved  quite  too  rigid  for  poet- 
ical treatment.  He  gives,  for  instance,  only  an  extract  from 
the  chronology  of  Noah's  posterity  (Gen.  X.),  after  having 
exhausted  in  earlier  genealogies  his  whole  rich  treasure  of  cir- 
cumlocutory phraseology.  He  nowhere  manifests  an  attempt 
at  general  artistic  casting;  even  though  he  does  not  twice  re- 
late the  creation  of  the  first  pair  (after  the  Bible),  but  blends 
the  first  two  chapters  of  Genesis.'^ 

The  originality  of  the  poet  is  revealed  only  in  detail  and 
execution.  The  simple,  terse  expression  of  the  scriptural  nar- 
rative is  exchanged  for  a  broad,  often  impassioned  epic  style. 
Adjectives  and  appositions  are  crowded,  parallel  variations 
of  the  same  idea  follow  each  other,  and  adverb  phrases  im- 
pressively repeated,  often  refer  to  what  has  already  been 
related  and  is  well  known.  Like  the  poets  of  the  English 
epos,  the  author  of  the  Genesis  is  fond  of  employing  direct 
and  full  quotation  in  dialogue,  while  he  rather  avoids  it  in 
monologue.  Everj'where  he  strives  for  a  living  assimilation 
of  the  material,  and  for  poetic  realism  and  sensuous  colouring. 
Naturally,  those  passages  which  lend  themselves  m.ost  easily 

'  See  Appendix  A. 

*  Owing  to  a  gap  in  the  manuscript  we  cannot  claim  this  with  abi^olute  certaiaty,  al 
though  it  is  highly  probable. 


THE  GENESIS.  43 

to  such  a  treatment  are  executed  with  special  care.  The 
account  of  the  creation,  though  brief,  is  very  effective.  Our 
text  is  unfortunately  incomplete,  but  lines  such  as  these  oc- 
cur: 

Yet  was  the  earth 
Not  green  with  grass ;  the  ocean  was  grim 
In  dreary  darkness,  the  dusky  waves, 
In  eternal  night,  the  far  and  tlie  near. 
Then  swift  with  speed  the  guardian  spirit 
Of  heaven  was  borne,  all  glory-beaming, 
Athwart  the  waters,  the  swarthy  waste : 
Then  made  command  the  maker  of  angels. 
The  Lord  of  life,  to  come  forth  light 
Upon  the  boundless,  the  ocean  broad. 
The  high  king's  behest  with  haste  was  fulfilled: 
For  him  the  light  holy  was  over  the  waste, 
As  bade  the  Creator.  1 

The  description  of  the  deluge  is  rich  in  effective  touches ; 
but  several  passages  in  the  story  of  Abraham  are  especially 
noteworthy.  The  paraphrase  of  the  fourteenth  chapter  of 
the  Bible,  a  stirring  battle-picture  with  many  accessories, 
shows  our  poet  possessed  by  that  glow  of  warlike  enthusiasm 
which  pervades  all  Teutonic  antiquity. 

They  gathered  together ; 
Then  loud  were  the  lances;  the  bands  of  slaughter 
Were  wroth  and  raging.     The  rush  expecting. 
The  swart  fowl  sang,  amid  the  shaft-darts. 
Bedewed  of  feathers.     The  fearless  warz-iors, 
The  heroes  hastened,  in  powerful  hordes, 
Till  now  the  hosts  of  nations  had  come 
From  afar  and  near,  from  north  and  south. 
The  helmet  decked  ones.     Then  hard  was  the  play. 
The  change  and  clangor  of  clashing  death-spears, 
A  scream  of  warring,  a  cry  loud  of  battle. 
With  hands  they  drew,  the  warriors  dread, 
From  shining  sheaths  their  swords  ring-hiltcd, 
Of  edges  doughty.® 

Nevertheless  our  poet  does  not  appear  in  the  character  of 
a  scop  or  gleöma?i  who  has  donned  the  cowl  and  turned  to 
religious  poetising.  He  would  have  betrayed  in  other  pas- 
sages as  well  his  preference  for  the  customary  epic  armour, 
for  weapons  and  the  hke,  and  would  have  brought  out  and 
utilised  more  prominently  the  martial  element  in  the  bearing 

*  Genesis,  v.  116-125,  Bibliothek  der  ags.  Poesie,  I.  <j. 
*  Genesis,  v.  1982-1993. 


44  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

and  cl'.aracter  of  his  heroes.  The  passion  which  fills  the  poet 
is  essentially  religious.  His  vocabulary  is  nowhere  richer 
than  when  he  attempts  to  render  in  varying  phrase  his  con- 
ception of  the  God-head. 

It  is  characteristic  and  conclusive  as  to  the  great  age  of  the 
poem  that  no  sentimentality  mars  its  epic  fulness  and  relig- 
ious pathos. 

The  man  began, 
Young  in  winters,  to  question  Abraham  with  words: 
"My  prince,  we  have  fire  here  and  sword; 
Where  is  the  offering  that  thou,  all-glorious, 
Wouldst  bring,  a  sacrifice  burnt  to  God?" 
Abraham  spake:  (In  all  he  had  willed 
To  do  what  his  Lord  ordained.) 
"That  will  the  true  King,  protector  of  men, 
Find  himself  as  seenieth  to  him  well." 
Steadfast  he  mounted  the  steep  height  then, 
Bearing  his  son  as  the  Eternal  One  bade, 
Until  he  stood  on  the  summit  of  the  high  land, 
The  place  itself  which  the  All-potent  had  pointed  out, 
As  the  true  Creator  had  taught  him  with  words,  i 

We  recognise  in  the  poet  a  virile,  great,  and  noble  nature, 
the  outcome  of  simple  circumstances,  who  might  have  borne 
Caedmon's  name  with  honour.  And  if  Beda  prefers  Caed- 
mon's  poems  to  those  of  all  later  religious  poets  known  to 
him,  we,  although  not  acquainted  with  those  poets,  may  as- 
sume that  the  Bible-friend  in  Beda  proved  stronger  than  the 
artist  in  the  forming  of  this  judgment.  In  no  case  can  the 
great  theologian's  high  esteem  of  Caedmon  be  a  ground  for 
ascribing  to  him  traits  essentially  ditfering  from  those  of  the 
poet  of  the  Ge?iesis. 

The  author  of  the  Exodus'^  reveals  quite  different  charac- 
teristics. The  matter  of  the  poem  is  such  that  at  a  first 
glance  one  might  be  tempted  to  call  it  a  well-rounded  epic 
song.  The  entire  narrative  deals  with  the  passage  of  the  Is- 
raelites through  the  Red  Sea,  and  the  destruction  of  the 
Egyptian  host.  Hence  only  a  short  section  of  the  biblical 
account  yielded  material  to  the  writer,  and  he  has  treated 
this  material  with  great  freedom,  and  adorned  it  with  all  the 
expedients  of  his  art.  Looking  at  the  reflections  interspersed 
at  the  beginning  and  near  the  end,  one  would,  as  has  indeed 

*  Genesis^  v.  2887-2900,  Grein,  Billioih.ek  cUr  ags.  Poesie,  I.  75. 
2  Sec  Appendix  A. 


THE  EXODUS.  43 

happened,  take  the  poem  for  a  poetical  sermon.  But  if  we 
surrender  ourselves  to  the  impression  of  the  whole,  the  hom- 
iletic  tone  becomes  quite  subordinate  to  the  epic  pathos. 
This  fervour  finds  expression  in  an  amplitude  of  delineation 
which  does  not  belong  to  the  fragmentary  song,  but  to  the 
epos.  The  poet  was  evidently  an  epic  singer  who  had  turned 
cleric,  or  at  least  Bible-poet,  but  who  had  retained  his  ancient 
predilection  for  heroes  and  arms.  In  no  Old  English  po- 
etry is  the  martial  passion  so  marked,  so  exclusive;  and  this 
is  the  more  striking  as  the  action  involves  no  battle  at  all, 
but  merely  a  struggle  of  the  Egyptians  with  the  waves.  It 
deals  only  with  the  preparations  for  battle,  or  with  perilous 
situations,  and  these  suffice  to  exalt  the  poet  to  the  highest 
enthusiasm.  Very  gorgeous  is  the  description  of  the  two 
hosts  marching  in  the  panoply  of  war,  and  especially  so  is 
that  of  the  advancing  Egyptians.  Most  effective  is  the  pict- 
ure of  the  terror  of  Israel,  dreading  a  sudden  assault.  Pas- 
sages like  this  in  which  Moses  prepares  to  speak  before  the 
march  through  the  Red  Sea  are  characteristic: 

The  man  of  batile,  the  bold  commander, 

His  shield  upraised,  then  sprang  before 

The  warriors  waiting;  the  folk-leaders  bade  he 

To  stand,  to  listen,  to  stay  the  march 

"While  the  hero's  speaking  the  many  should  hear. 

The  guardian  of  the  land  was  beginning  to  speak 

With  holy  voice,  through  the  martial  host: 

With  dignity  spake  the  multitude's  leader   ....  * 

The  poet  does  not  dwell  long  on  the  speeches.  He  is 
quite  averse  to  dialogue.  His  strength  lies  in  the  delinea- 
tion of  external  actions,  and  particularly  of  situations. 

He  has  at  command  a  rich  epic  phraseology.  He  is  truly 
prodigal  of  forms  of  variation,  both  in  the  narrow  and  the 
more  general  sense.  His  style  is  more  prolix  and  detailed 
than  that  of  the  Genesis  poet,  but  more  imaginative  and  sen- 
suous as  well;  in  short,  more  poetical. 

Unfortunately  his  work  has  not  come  to  us  entire.  Just 
l)efore  the  overthrow  of  the  Egyptian  army,  there  is  a  gap. 
It  embraces  the  close  of  an  episode,  which,  breaking  into 
the  passage  of  the  Israelites,  tells  of  their  ancestors;^  the 

1  Exodus,  V.  552-258,  Giein,  Bibliothek  der  ags.  Poesie,  I.  84. 

'  According  to  the  allusion  in  line  353,  there  may  have  been  mention  of  but  one  fath- 


40  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

portion  preserved  treats  chiefly  of  Abraham's  sacrifice.  Al- 
though not  unskilfully  inserted,  this  episode  seems  written 
in  too  simple  a  style  for  the  Exodus  poet,  so  that  here,  too, 
we  perhaps  have  to  do  with  an  interpolation.  Comparing 
it  with  the  corresponding  passage  in  the  Genesis^  vre  arc  struck 
by  the  greater  delicacy  and  subjectivity  of  treatment  of  this 
insertion,  qualities  which,  in  themselves,  would  not  be  incon- 
sistent with  the  epic  and  martial  pathos  of  the  Exodus  poet. 

A  paraphrase  of  the  book  of  Daniel^  also  imperfect  (it 
breaks  off  at  about  Chap.  V.  22),  differs  in  treatment  from 
the  Genesis  as  well  as  the  Exodus  :  ^  from  the  latter  poem,  in 
that  it  does  not  present  a  single  detached  event,  but  fol- 
lowing the  biblical  narrative,  comprehends  a  series  of  events ; 
and  from  the  Genesis,  for  the  reason  that  the  poet  is  less  re- 
stricted by  his  text,  and  chooses  systematically  from  the  ma- 
terial before  him.  His  plan,  however,  is  mainly  confined  to 
the  ideas  found  in  the  book  of  Daniel:  humble  submis- 
sion to  God  and  devout  trust  in  His  word,  contrasted  with 
self-sufficient  pride  and  lawless  lust;  the  reward  of  the 
former,  the  punishment  of  the  latter.  Hence  the  poet  leaves 
out  entirely  such  features  as  have  no  bearing  upon  his  pur- 
pose, and  only  briefly  indicates  what  is  of  secondary  impor- 
tance to  it,  thus  throwing  the  central  thought  into  stronger 
light.  The  delineation  is  less  full  and  sensuous,  but  more 
animated  than  that  of  the  Exodus,  and  shows  a  less  equable 
epic  movement  and  a  stronger  admixture  of  subjective  feel- 
ing than  we  find  in  the  Genesis.  While  the  poet  is,  on  the 
whole,  rather  brief,  making  little  use  of  direct  quotation,  and 
employing  little  epic  detail,  he  dwells  emphatically  upon  the 
chief  scenes,  and  develops  in  them  the  entire  splendour  and 
wealth  of  his  language,  as  notably  in  the  account  of  the  three 
men  in  the  fiery  furnace.^ 

But  in  the  art  of  working  out  a  plot,  all  the  vrriters  of  re- 
ligious epics,  belonging  to  that  period,  are  surpassed  by  the 
author  of  y^udith.     If  indeed  his  subject-matter  is  extraor- 

er  (Jacob?),  to  whose  history  the  entire  extant  portion  of  the  episode  perhaps  formed 
an  introduction.     But  Abraham  may  also  have  been  meant. 

'  1 1  is  possible  that  the  composer  of  the  Darnel  was  acquainted  with  the  Exodus, 
and  wrote  with  reference  to  this  poem.  If  this  was  the  case  he  took  no  pains  to  imi- 
tate his  predecessor. 

2  It  is  hardly  by  chance  that  a  fccond  version  of  this  part  of  the  poem  is  found  in  the 
rich  collection  of  poetry  contained  in  the  E.\cter  manuscript  {CoJcj:  Exonkfisis).  This 
text,  however,  diverges  entirely  in  its  latter  half. 


STYLE  AND  METRE.  47 

dinarily  happy,  offering,  as  it  does,  a  well-rounded  plot  of  al- 
most dramatic  interest,  still  we  are  wont  to  consider  a  judicious 
choice  of  material  an  added  merit  in  the  talent  that  can 
shape  it  ^Yorthily.  Only  the  close  of  the  poem,  little  more 
than  a  quarter  of  the  whole,  is  preserved.  This  fragment, 
however,  produces  an  impression  more  like  that  of  the  nation- 
al epos,  than  is  the  case  with  any  other  religious  poetry  of 
that  epoch.  To  a  lucid,  well-constructed  narrative  are  joined 
epic  profusion,  vigour,  and  animation.  In  the  highest  degree 
effective  is  the  portrayal  of  Judith's  return  to  Bethulia,  of 
the  warlike  advance  of  the  Hebrews,  of  the  surprise  of  the 
Assyrian  camp,  the  terror  of  the  Assyrian  nobles,  who  dare 
not  disturb  their  lord  in  his  rest,  and  finally  of  the  disband- 
ment  and  flight  of  the  heathen  host.  If  the  poet  seems 
stirred  by  his  theme,  if  he  does  not  refrain  from  giving  a  moral 
judgment,  and  occasionally  anticipates  the  story,  yet  he  re- 
sembles in  all  this,  not  only  most  of  the  religious,  but  also 
the  national  epic  singers  of  his  time. 

Religious  poets  seem  early  to  have  indulged  in  a  metrical 
license  which  found  its  way,  from  the  Bible-epics,  into  the  later 
portions  of  the  popular  epos,  at  least  into  the  interpolations 
of  the  revisers.  The  strictly  rhythmical  chant  of  the  popular 
singers  did  not  prevent  them,  it  is  true,  from  frequently  fall- 
ing short  of  the  number  of  feet  required  by  the  metrical 
scheme,  as  the  measure  could  be  completed  by  a  longer 
dwelling  upon  certain  syllables  or  by  the  help  of  pauses; 
but  it  never  allowed  them  to  transcend  it.  In  the  religious  ep- 
ics, however,  which  were  doubtless  simply  recited,  not  sung, 
tradition,  which  permitted  a  curtailment,  could  in  time  easily 
sanction  a  redundance.  Hence  the  verses  sometimes  swell 
beyond  the  measure  of  the  eight  accents,  within  fixed  limits 
only,  yet  yielding  many  varieties  that  conform  to  the  unity 
of  no  law  save  in  the  position  of  the  three  alliterative  letters. 
In  the  Genesis  ^  and  Exodus^  such  lengthened  lines  are  com- 
paratively rare;  they  are  less  rare  in  the  Daniel^  and  are  es- 
pecially frequent  in  the  Judith,  where  they  are  employed  in 
a  striking,  and  by  no  means  inartistic  manner. 

•  In  which,  of  course,  we  caiJiiot  inchide  the  longintcrpoiation,  whose  author  revels 
in  long  verses. 


4^  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

V. 

Besides  the  heroes  of  the  old  covenant,  those  of  the  new, 
the  apostles,  the  holy  martyrs  and  confessors,  presented 
themselves  to  the  religious  epic  as  subjects  for  glorification. 
From  the  first  centuries  of  our  era  onward,  Christian  tradi- 
tion had  gathered  rich  material  for  poetic  transmutation, 
and  all  Christian  nations  contributed  their  share  to  its  in- 
crease and  development.  From  the  Greek  and  Latin  lan- 
guages— Latin  was  usually  the  medium  of  versions  originally 
Greek — these  legends  were  transplanted  into  the  national 
literatures  of  the  different  European  peoples. 

Religious  lyrical  poetry  found  an  exalted  model  in  the 
psalms  of  the  Old  Testament,  Thes'e  may  have  early  invit- 
ed to  imitation  and  poetical  paraphrase;  although  the  tradi- 
tion that  ascribes  such  a  translation  to  Aldhelm  does  not 
seem  to  rest  on  a  sure  basis.  A  paraphrase  of  the  fiftieth 
psalm  ^  in  the  Kentish  dialect,  not  lacking  warmth  and  ele- 
vation of  tone,  dates  at  the  latest  from  a  time  before  800,  and 
was  certainly  no  isolated  attempt.  A  rendition  of  the  whole 
psalter  ^  in  the  West-Saxon  dialect  appears  to  be  more  re- 
cent, though  hardly  as  recent  as  we  might  be  tempted  to  con- 
clude from  the  somewhat  prosaic  diction,  and  the  frequently 
incorrect  versification.  It  would  be  hazardous  to  apply  the 
strictest  standard  of  aesthetic  criticism  to  a  work  undertaken 
principally  for  practical  purposes.  But  the  language  of  this 
translation  is  not  without  ancient  elements. 

The  lyrico-religious  mood  often  found  expression  in  hymns 
and  prayers  more  freely  than  in  the  rendering  of  psalms. 
These  were  partly  imitations  of  ecclesiastical  Latin  models, 
and  partly  independent  disposal  of  known  themes,  and  they 
occasionally  disclose  a  great  intensity  of  subjective  feeling. 

A  wide  field  extends  between  the  epic  and  the  lyric,  touch- 
ing sometimes  the  one,  sometimes  the  other,  and  including 
didactic  and  descriptive  poesy.     In  this  domain  we  find  sim- 

'  To  this  is  prefixed  an  introductory  narrative,  and  an  independent  close  is  append- 
ed. Published  by  Dietrich,  Aiiglosaxonica,  Marburg,  185S,  page  3;  Grein,  BiLiiotJiek 
cUr  angelsäcJisiscIun  Poesie,  II.  276. 

2  1'he  greater  pait  of  it.  from  pp.  51-56  on,  is  preserved  in  a  Parisian  manuscript  of 
the  eleventh  centurj-,  which  has  a  later  prose  translation  of  the  first  fifty  psalms.  Of 
tlie  lost  part  of  the  metrical  versi -n,  not  inconsiderable  fragments  are  found  dispersed 
In  an  English  Benedictine  service  contained  in  mss.  of  the  time  shortly  befure  and 
after  the  Norman  Conquest. 


LATIN  INFLUENCE.  49 

pie  moral  discussions,  short  poetical  sermons  on  the  arro- 
gance and  falseness  of  mankind,  or  meditations  on  the  vast- 
ness  and  splendour  of  creation.  We  also  have  those  poems 
to  which  special  Christian  legends  of  biblical  or  unbiblical 
origin,  and  sometimes  even  myths  of  classical  derivation 
transformed  to  a  Christian  basis,  furnished  the  material.  To 
this  class  belong  accounts  of  the  last  judgment,  and  speeches 
of  the  saved  or  rejected  soul  to  the  body  with  which  it 
has  been  united  in  life,  which  it  visits  every  week,  and  with 
which  it  will  be  reunited  for  common  bliss  or  common 
torment  on  the  last  day.  Descriptions  of  hell  and  heaven  as 
revealed  in  the  visions  of  many  saints,  and  as  they  took  ever 
more  vivid  and  plastic  form  in  the  Christian  fancy,  also  be- 
long there.  We  find  among  these  poems,  too,  the  ancient  tra- 
dition of  Christ's  descent  into  hell,  that  attained  its  definite 
and,  as  it  were,  classical  setting  in  the  so-called  Evangeliuftt 
Nicodemi ;^  although  a  stricter  theological  bias  held  rather 
to  those  outlines  of  the  tradition  which  could  be  authenticat- 
ed in  the  writings  of  th^  fathers. 

In  this  entire  range  of  poetical  composition,  the"  English 
found  their  sources  as  well  as  their  models  among  Christian 
Latin  poets  and  wTiters  of  theological  prose.  But  it  was 
more  particularly  the  homiletic  literature  which  acted  upon 
a  class  of  poetry  that,  by  a  blending  of  narrative,  reflection, 
and  admonition,  itself  bore  a  decidedly  homiletic  character. 
Foremost  was  the  influence  of  the  great  Latin  fathers,  and 
above  all,  that  of  Gregory,  to  whom  Christian  England  was 
indebted  more  than  to  any  other,  and  whom  it  venerated  as 
an  aposde. 

The  most  peculiar  products  of  old  Christian  literature  were 
those  in  which  the  frequent  attribution  of  a  symbolic  mean- 
ing to  natural  phenomena  determined  not  only  the  treatment, 
but  the  choice  of  a  subject.  This  symbolism  was  chiefly  de- 
rived from  the  animal  kingdom.  The  Christian  imagination 
had  seized  eagerly  upon  antique,  and,  especially,  Greek  tales, 
in  which  both  fabulous  creatures  and  familiar  animals  with 
fabulous  qualities  were  the  heroes.     In  carrying  these  further, 

1  More  exactly  in  the  Descensus  ChHsti  ad  inferos,  a  work  dating  possibly  from  the 
third  century,  which,  in  the  first  half  of  the  fifth  century,  was  united  with  the  Gesia 
I^'lati,  an  account  of  the  passion  and  resurrection  of  Christ,  and  of  the  capture  and  mi- 
raculous deliverance  of  Joseph  of  Arimathea. 

£ 


50  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

it  gave  tliem  a  deep,  mystical  sense,  an  application  to  the 
mysteries  of  religious  faith.  This  animal  symbolism  played 
an  important  part  in  the  art  of  the  earlier  Christian  centuries. 
It  often  appeared  in  the  works  of  the  fathers,  and  of  old 
Christian  poets  and  writers;  it  even  yielded  independent 
poems.  But  compendious  compilations  served  to  extend 
h  among  the  most  diverse  mediaeval  peoples.  In  them  cer- 
tain qualities  {natures,  as  they  were  named)  of  a  series  of  ani- 
mals were  depicted  and  interpreted.  Such  a  collection  was 
called  a  F/iysiologus.  The  numerous  Physiologi  now  extant  in 
eastern  and  western  languages,  and  in  several  versions,  dif- 
fering in  scope,  method,  and  selection,  all  disclose  a  funda- 
mental Greek  type.  Latin  was  again  the  medium  of  pro- 
mulgation for  western  Europe.  There  already  existed  a 
Latin  FJiysiologus  in  the  fifth  century  of  our  era,  since  a 
papal  decree  of  the  year  496  proscribes  as  apocryphal  and 
heretical  a  work  of  this  kind,  attributed  to  St.  Ambrose. 

The  symbolism  of  such  literature  was  naturally  attractive 
to  English  poetry,  and  gave  it  welcome  opportunity  for  effect- 
ive description.  The  beautiful  fragment  of  an  Old  English 
Fhysio/ogus,  containing  the  Panther,  Whale,  and  a  few  lines 
of  a  third  section  concerning  a  marv'ellous  bird,  shows  us  with 
what  charm  a  truly  poetical  conception  could  invest  such  a 
subject.  The  interpretation  is  the  usual  one.  The  panther 
seeks,  after  the  repast,  "a  hidden  place  under  the  mountain 
caves,"  where  he  sleeps  three  days,  then  awakes  and,  uttering 
loud,  harmonious  sounds,  emits  a  lovely  fragrance;  this  is 
Christ  the  Risen.  The  whale,  "  which  is  often  met  unwilling- 
ly, cruel  and  fierce,  by  sea-farers,"  induces  them,  by  his  isl- 
and-like repose,  to  mount  him,  and  then  dives  with  them  un- 
expectedly into  the  deep ;  he  allures  the  fishes  with  his  sweet 
breath  and  suddenly  swallows  them  ;  this  denotes  hell. 

The  great  and  really  productive  period  of  Old  English  re- 
ligious poetry  may  be  included  within  the  years  650  and  800, 
or  about  825.  The  majority  of  the  works  mentioned  arose 
probably  during  the  eighth,  or  in  the  beginning  of  the  next 
century;  including  also  the  Exodus,  the  Daniel,  and  the  y^u- 
dith,  whose  chronological  order  may  perhaps,  at  a  later  time, 
be  more  nearly  determined.  But  the  most  many-sided,  pro- 
lific, and  we  might  say,  the  greatest  poet  of  this  time  is  yet 
to  be  considered.     He  is  also  the  only  one  who  lias  handed 


CYNEWULF.  51 

down  his  name  in  his  works,  and  what  is  more,  a  part  of  his 
hfe.  His  name  was  Cynewulf,  or,  in  his  own  dialect,  Coene- 
wulf. 

Cynewiüf,  Hke  Caedmon,  was  a  Northumbrian.^ 

Conjecture. places  his  birth  between  720  and  730;  hence 
he  could  hardly  have  outlived  the  eighth  century,  and  his 
principal  works  may  be  ascribed  to  its  second  half. 

He  belonged  to  the  guild  of  wandering  glee-men,  and 
seems  to  have  rejoiced  in  high  favor  and  rich  gifts  at  prince- 
ly courts.  He  did  not  lack  learning.  He  read  the  Latin 
authors,  and  sometimes  made  poor  Latin  verses  himself,  which 
points  to  a  youth  passed  in  the  monastery  school. 

Of  the  poems  which  Cynewulf  composed  as  itinerant  sing- 
er, we  have  knowledge  only  of  a  collection  of  riddles,  if  we 
discard  what  is  doubtful. 

We  cannot  say  to  what  extent  English  riddle-writing  had 
flourished  before  Cynewulf,  and  still  less  to  what  extent  it  grew 
up  from  native,  popular  elements,  and  how  much  it  was  due  to 
the  influence  of  a  foreign  literature.  So  much  is  certain  :  as 
in  Teutonic  antiquity  generally,  so  especially  in  English  an- 
tiquity, were  found  in  abundance  the  many  conditions,  not 
only  for  the  production  of  riddles,  but  for  a  characteristic 
poetical  development  of  them.  They  lay  in  the  popular  view 
of  life  and  nature,  in  the  foreboding,  sombre  tone  of  the  epic 
language,  in  the  nature  of  the  national  gnomic  verse,  and  in 
the  fondness  for  combat  in  word-subtleties.  This  originali- 
ty of  poetical  treatment  appears  even  in  Aldhelm's  Latin 
enigmas,  when  we  compare  them  with  those  of  Symposius. 

Aldhelm's  example  had  great  influence,  perhaps  in  certain 
things,  a  decisive  influence  upon  Cynewulf.  He  was  probably 
indebted  to  him  for  the  idea  of  arranging  a  greater  number 
of  riddles,  w^ithout  a  system,  but  in  such  an  order  that,  collect- 
ively, they  covered  a  certain  range  of  conceptions.  In  the 
first  of  these,  he  set  his  own  name  to  be  guessed,  not  like 
Aldhelm,  in  the  form  of  an  acrostic,  but  as  a  charade. 

Cynewulf  borrowed  many  of  his  themes  from  Aldhelm  as 
well  as  Symposius,  and  probably  from  other  Latin  poets,^ 
foHowing  his  originals  sometimes  freely,  sometimes  more 
closely,  but  always  with  most  hfelike  and  spontaneous  treat- 
ment.    Other  themes  came  to  him  through  oral  tradition, 

•  See  Appendix  B.  *  Ibid. 


52  BEFORE  THE  CONQUES'l'. 

either  from  learned  or  from  popular  sources.  The  tale  of 
the  dragon,  for  mstance,  whose  tracks  lead  the  way  to  the 
gold-hoard,  was  taken  from  the  folk-saga,  perhaps  directly 
from  the  epos.  In  his  choice  of  material,  nearly  all  of  which 
deals  with  every-day  affairs,  as  well  as  in  his  manner  of  treat- 
ing it,  he  discloses  a  fine  mind,  a  ready  sense  of  the  beau- 
ties of  nature  and  the  wonders  of  creation.  His  work  also 
betokens  a  lively  interest  in  the  achievements  of  culture  and 
the  practical  details  of  life,  but  above  all  a  genuine  poetic, 
creative  impulse.  A  love  of  weapons  and  war  appears  be- 
side an  appreciation  of  the  importance  of  learning.  The 
mead-jug  and  the  wine-skin  are  likewise  remembered,  and 
next  to  passages  of  exalted  strain,  sometimes  occur  coarse 
sensuality  and  naive  innuendo. 

Conscious  art  is  joined,  in  the  execution,  to  the  natural 
impulses  of  English  popular  poetry.  As  with  Aldhelm,  and 
still  more  than  with  him,  the  poet's  object  is  not  alone,  and 
not  chiefly,  a  play  of  wit.  He  is  filled  with  his  subject,  and 
what  he  says  of  it  comes  from  a  loving,  enthusiastic  spirit. 
As  he  borrows  verse  and  diction  from  the  epos,  every  object 
becomes  for  him  an  epic  hero,  whose  marvellous  being  the 
poet  Vv'onderingly  unveils  to  us,  or  Vvho  tells  of  his  own  fort- 
unes in  a  feeling,  and  often  pathetic  or  elegiac  tone. 

We  have  room  here  for  only  one  example  from  Cynewulf 's 
collection  of  riddles.  It  is  selected  with  some  reference  to 
the  reader's  more  ready  comprehension : 

I  was  an  armed  warrior;  now  a  proud  one, 

A  young  hero,  decks  me  with  gold  and  silver, 

And  with  crooked  wire-bows.      Men  sometimes  kiss  me; 

Sometimes  I  call  to  battle  the  willing  comrades; 

Now  a  steed  doth  bear  me  over  the  boundaries. 

Now  a  sea-courser  carries  me,  bright  with  jewels, 

Over  the  floods.     And  now  there  fills  my  bosom 

A  maiden  adorned  with  rings;  or  I  may  be  robbed 

Of  my  gems,  and  hard  and  headless  Tie;  or  hang 

Prettily  on  the  wall  where  warriors  drink, 

Trimmed  with  trappings.     Sometimes  as  an  ornament  brave, 

Folk-warriors  wear  me  on  horseback  ;   wind 

From  the  bosom  of  a  man  must  I,  in  gold-hues  bright, 

Swallow  then.     Sometimes  to  the  wine 

I  invite  with  my  voice  the  valiant  men  ; 

Or  it  rescues  the  stolen  from  the  robbers'  grasp, 

Drives  away  enemies.     Ask  what  my  name  is.l 

'  No.  IS,  Grein,  Bibliothek  der  ags.  Focsic,  II.  376. 


VISION  OF  THE  CROSS.  53 

The  solution  is :     The  horn  of  a  bull. 
Several  other  extant  poems  have  been  pronounced  works 
from  this  early  period  of  Cynewulf 's  life ;  though  the  argu- 
ments supporting  this  opinion   are  not  without  attraction, 
they  do  not  carry  convincing  proof. 

A  new  phase  in  Cynewulf's  life  and  writing  was  due  to  a 
remarkable  event,  of  a  kind  not  rare  in  the  fancy  of  mediaeval 
minds.  The  poet  had  grown  older;  a  sad  fate  had  robbed 
him  of  friends  and  patrons.  Poor  and  isolated,  he  began  to 
give  himself  up  to  melancholy,  and  a  gloomy  view  of  life. 
His  conscience  reproached  him  with  the  frivolity  of  other 
days,  with  worldly  thought  and  endeavour.  Then  was  vouch- 
safed to  him  a  marvellous  vision,  one  due  perhaps  to  the 
poet's  study  of  a  certain  group  of  Christian  Latin  poems,  but 
which  had  none  the  less  the  true  impress  of  subjective  experi- 
ence, Cynewulf  himself  has  immortalised  this  vision  in  a 
poem,^  giving  utterance  to  an  irrepressible  emotion,  but  still 
exhibiting  the  delicate  lines  of  a  beautifully  designed  compo- 
sition. It  moreover  contains  single  passages  that  forcibly 
suggest  the  style  of  his  riddle-poetry.  The  holy  rood,  now 
glittering  with  gold  and  precious  stones,  now  stained  with 
blood,  appeared  to  him  in  a  dream,  and  addressed  him.  The 
tree  of  victory  told  him  of  its  fortunes,  and  the  story  of  the 
Saviour  whom  it  had  been  accounted  worthy  to  bear.  We 
hear  how,  after  the  burial  of  Christ,  the  cross-tree  was  sunk 
deep  into  earth,  but  later  was  lifted  by  servants  of  God  and 
adorned  with  gold  and  silver.  The  time  was  come  when 
heroes,  far  and  wide,  should  pay  homage  to  this  sign  and 
worship  it :  God's  son  had  suftered  upon  it ;  therefore  it 
stood  forth  glorious  under  the  sky,  and  was  able  to  heal  any 
people  that  feared  it. 

Now  bid  I  thee,  O  man,  my  dear  one, 

That  this  sight  thou  sayest  to  men,  the  sinful : 

Reveal  with  words  it  is  the  glory-tree, 

On  which  the  great  Ahiiighty  God, 

For  mankind's  grievous  and  manifold  guilt 

Had  suffered  shame,  for  Adam's  ancient  sins 

He  did  taste  death;  there  died  the  Lord. 

But  the  King  arose  from  the  regions  of  night 

With  his  might,  the  great,  for  the  help  of  men. 

He  ascended  to  heaven,  and  will  hither  again 

Come  to  judge  mankind,  in  this  mid-earth. 

I  pibllotfiek  der  ags.  Poesie,  II.  143.     See  Appendix  ß. 


54  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

On  the  day  of  doom,  the  dreadful  Lord, 

The  Ahiiighty  King,  with  angels  will  come, 

Will  doom  and  condemn,  who  has  power  of  death, 

Each  and  every  one  as  he  even  here, 

In  this  life  on  earth,  this  short  one,  has  earned  it ; 

Xor  shall  fearless  go  forth,  before  the  word 

The  ruler  shall  speak,  one  single  sinner. 

Where  may  be  the  man,  he  asks  the  multitude, 

^Vho  would  come  on  the  cross  to  death  for  the  King,— 

The  bitter  death  taste,  that  the  King  once  died  ? 

But  they  fear,  and  fail  to  find  the  words, 

To  Christ  the  Saviour,  that  they  shall  say. 

But  need  fear  none  that  named  shall  be, 

Who  bears  in  his  breast  the  best  of  signs ; 

But  heaven's  home  through  the  holy  cross, 

All  souls,  from  earth-ways,  shall  ever  seek 

Who  tliink  M'ith  the  Ruler  to  dwell.  ^ 

With  a  light  heart  Cynewulf  prayed  to  the  holy  rood:  he 
had  found  peace  and  happiness  again.  His  thoughts  were 
directed  from  that  hour  to  the  hereafter,  and  it  was  his  joy 
to  revere  the  cross.  I'he  poet  probably  became  a  monk  in 
consequence  of  this;  but,  however  that  may  be,  his  muse 
subsequently  served  religion  alone.  His  later  poems  mainly 
develop  themes  already  treated  in  the  poem  on  the  appari- 
tion of  the  cross. 

The  most  distinctive  of  these  poems  of  the  second  period 
is  one  whose  unity  German  criticism  first  recognised,  and  to 
w^hich  it  gave  the  name  of  Christ.  In  it  Cynewulf  describes 
the  threefold  coming  of  Christ:  his  birth,  his  ascension,  and 
his  advent  at  the  last  judgment.  The  poem  accordingly  con- 
sists of  three  principal  parts,  the  first  unfortunately  now  lack- 
ing its  beginning.  Each  part  develops  in  itself  a  fine  structural 
proportion,  in  which  the  narrative  proceeds,  glowing  with 
feeling  and  varied  by  the  tints  of  changing  artistic  colouring. 
As  Cynewulf  drew  his  subject-matter  from  the  Latin  homilies, 
among  others  those  of  Gregory  the  Great,  we  are  sometimes 
tempted  to  pronounce  his  work  a  chain  of  homiletic  effusion?. 
The  whole  is,  however,  removed  to  a  sphere  so  poetical  that 
we  think  rather  of  a  cycle  of  hymns,  having,  with  a  chiefly 
lyrico-didactic  character,  epic  and  even  dramatic  elements. 
The  ideas  are  artistically  interwoven,  the  transition  being  now 
veiled,  now  lightly  indicated.  Sometimes  the  movement 
seems  arrested,  and  we  feel  as  if  Cynewulf  were  using,  in 

»  V.  95-iai. 


CYNEWULF  S  CHRIST.  55 

larger  scope,,  the  form  of  variation  of  which  he  is  fond  in  de- 
tails, and  were  creating  in  some  degree,  a  composition  with 
intersecting  moments.  But  the  poet  advances  ever  nearer  to 
his  goal,  although  he  gathers  much  upon  his  way.  His  work 
grows  steadily  in  changing  sequence  of  description,  dialogue, 
and  impassioned  praise ;  and  if  it  does  not  strictly  conform 
to  any  of  the  received  classes  of  poetry,  it  is  still  a  monument 
to  a  deep  religious  sentiment  and  a  fine  and  aspiring  spirit. 

The  intense  feelinoj  of  love  and  reverence  for  Christ  and 
Mary  here  attains  full  expression,  but  without  a  suggestion 
of  that  tone  which  religious  lyrics  borrowed  in  later  centuries 
from  the  secular  love-poetry  i^Minnepoesie).  Never  has  the 
love  of  Christ  in  contrast  with  the  guilt  of  sinners  been  de- 
picted more  impressively,  more  touchingly,  than  here ;  the 
terrors  of  the  last  judgment  have  rarely  been  portrayed  with 
a  more  vivid  pencil.  Of  all  the  Old  English  poems,  Cyne- 
wulf 's  Christ  is  perhaps  that  which  reveals,  in  the  most  com- 
plete and  effective  manner,  the  spirit  of  Christianity,  and  of 
Christian  Latin  poetry. 

Latin  influence  is  also  evident  in  syntax  and  rhetoric. 
Several  figures  appear  that  were  either  quite  unknown  to 
national  epic  poetry — at  least  to  the  older  epic — or  had 
gained  but  small  foot-hold,  and  came  rarely  into  use:  as,  epan- 
aphora,  complexion,  and  antithesis.  In  the  Christ  are  found 
for  the  first  time,^  detailed  and  ample  similes ;  there  are  but 
two,  it  is  true,  and  these  are  veiy  old  ones  that  Cynewulf 
found  in  his  originals.  We  are,  however,  reminded  of  classic 
poetry  by  the  manner  in  which,  for  instance,  the  well-known 
gospel-comparison  is  treated: 

Unlooked  for  then  the  earth-dwellers, 

The  great  day  of  the  mighty  God  at  midnight  shall  befall, 

The  luminous  creation,  as  oft  a  crafty  robber, 

A  thief  boldly  in  darkness,  in  the  dusk  ventures, 

In  the  swart  night ;  those  bound  in  sleep, 

The  careless  heroes,  he  cunningly  falls  upon, 

And  with  evil  attacks  the  unready  ones.^ 

But  the  national  style  is  not  fundamentally  changed  by 
this  adoption  of  foreign  elements.  With  its  afiluence  of 
words,  it  retains  its  powerful,  impassionate,  yet  somewhat  un- 

•  The  comparison  with  Joseph's  coat  in  the  Panther  rrix^X.  be  suggested;  but  the 
Old  English  PJiysiologiis  is  hardly  of  an  earlier  date  than  the  Christ,  even  if  it  is  the 
work  of  Cynewulf,  of  which  I  am  by  no  means  convinced. 

1  V.  868-875,  BibÜQthek  der  ags.  Poesie,  I.  171, 


56  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

wieldy  movement.  Certain  peculiarities  seem  even  more 
frequent;  such  as  the  employment  of  variations  and  the  use 
of  pithy  circumlocutions  instead  of  pronouns.  It  is  essential- 
ly the  stylistic  mediums  of  the  national  epos  through  which 
Christian  views  here  find  expression.  Genuinely  popular 
ideas  are  sometimes  blended  with  those  views;  the  concep- 
tion of  thegnhood,  for  instance,  is  greatly  exalted,  and  not 
unfrequently  in  Cynewulf's  verse  we  seem  to  hear  an  echo 
of  those  tones  in  which,  perhaps,  ancient  hymns  sang  the  re- 
ception of  Woden's  elect  in  Walhalla  or  the  world's  doom 
by  fire. 

Christ's  descent  into  hell,  mentioned  in  the  Christ  in  con- 
nection with  the  ascension,  was  made  by  Cynewulf  the  sub- 
ject of  a  special  poem,  whose  lofty  and  thoughtful  beginning 
makes  us  regret  the  loss  of  the  remainder.  The  rendering  of 
the  Latin  poem  of  the  Fh(£mx,  from  its  relation  to  the  resur- 
rection, belongs  to  the  same  class.  The  original,  according 
to  an  ancient  tradition,  the  work  of  Lactantius,  presents  the 
antique  legend,  somewhat  altered  by  time,  in  a  style  seem- 
ingly illumined  by  an  autumnal  glow  of  classic  poesy.  The 
legend  is  plainly  tinged  by  the  Christian  spirit,  and  is  mod- 
elled in  accordance  with  a  Christian  symbolism.  The  poet 
may  have  been  a  Christian  himself,  or  have  taken  part  in 
one  of  those  tendencies  of  thought  that,  issuing  from  the 
bosom  of  pagan  antiquity,  met  those  of  Christianity  half-way. 
The  elegance  and  precision  of  expression,  characteristic  of 
this  poem,  are  necessarily  impaired  in  Cynewulf's  unevenly 
diffuse  treatment ;  nevertheless  the  poetic  value  seems  aug- 
mented in  the  English  version,  which  applies  the  entire  wealth 
of  the  national  style  in  the  service  of  an  intense,  devout 
faith,  but  disdains  new  rhetorical  mediums  as  little  as  does 
the  C/u'ist.  1  To  the  exposition  of  the  myth  Cynewulf  adds, 
as  a  continuation  well  worthy  of  it,  what  is  wanting  in  the 
original:  the  application  to  the  chosen  servants  of  the  Lord, 
and  then  to  Christ  the  Risen  himself 

Cynewulf's  style  appears  less  influenced  by  Latin  po- 
etry in  his  legends  of  the  saints.^     To  make  up   for  this, 

*  Especial  attention  is  called  to  the  simile  (v.  243-257),  which  is  carried  out  with  more 
than  Homeric  detail.     Compare  with  this  v.  107  et  seq.  of  the  quite  divergent  original. 

2  Certain  of  its  essentially  subjective  passages  must  be  excepted;  as  for  example, 
the  epilogue  to  the  Elcite.  In  this  we  find,  among  others,  a  fairly  executed  simile  (v. 
1272-1277)  whose  parts  again  forcibly  remind  us  of  Cynewulf's  RiddUs  No.  2-4. 


GUTHLAC. 


57 


the  spirit  of  the  national  epic  is  so  much  the  more  promi- 
nent in  them.  The  poet  did  not,  it  is  true,  possess,  in  any 
high  degree,  the  talent  of  epic  composition;  he  cannot  be 
compared  in  this  respect  with  the  author  of  the  J^udit/h 
His  subjectivity  often  impairs  the  clearness  of  the  narra- 
tive, his  invention  is  meagre  as  far  as  motifs  essential  to 
the  action  are  concerned;  v/e  may  even  say  that  the  ac- 
tion in  itself  interests  him  very  little  in  comparison  with 
the  feelings  and  ideas  it  suggests.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
atmosphere  of  the  national  epos  is  precisely  that  in  which  he 
is  at  home.  Whenever  he  encounters  epic  situations  in  his 
sources,  a  chord  is  at  once  touched  in  him  that  must  ever 
have  vibrated  during  liis  wandering  minstrelsy,  and  that 
awakens  other  strains  in  sympathetic  harmony.  Then  epic 
ideas  and  periods,  variations  and  images,  crowd  upon  him  in 
abundance.  It  is  as  if  youthful  impressions  had  again  be- 
come living  in  him ;  and,  as  often  happens  in  the  round  of 
life,  this  after-influence  of  the  national  epic  in  Cynewulf  grew 
the  more  powerful,  the  nearer  he  approached  the  end  of  his 
days. 

The  poet  apparently  first  turned  his  attention  to  an  Eng- 
lish saint,  the  hermit  Guthlac  who  died  in  714.  Presumably 
following  oral  tradition,  he  describes  rather  vaguely,  but  very 
amply  and  feelingly,  the  life  of  Guthlac  on  a  lonely  height,  his 
cruel  temptation  by  devils,  and  his  consolation  by  a  heavenly 
messenger  until  his  final  rev/ard  for  the  victorious  struggle. 
At  a  later  time  Cynewulf  added  to  this  poem  a  continuation,^ 
based  on  a  Latin  Vita  Saiicti  Guthlaci  by  the  monk  Felix  of 
Croyland,  in  which  he  relates  the  death  of  the  saint,  his  last 
commission  to  a  faithful  follower,  and  its  execution.  The 
continuation,  another  work  not  fully  preserved,  surjjasses  the 
first  part  in  poetic  value.  The  last  division  is  especially  full 
of  feeling,  and  in  the  highest  degree  effective.  It  contains 
the  journey  of  Guthlac's  servant  to  the  sister  of  the  saint, 
and  the  sorrowful  message  addressed  to  her.  The  Latin 
text  furnished  merely  the  occasion  for  this  entire  episode. 

In  yidiana  Cynewulf  delineates  a  martyr  whose  existence, 
strongly  doubted  by  historians,  is  placed  by  the  legend  at 
the  time  of  the  emperor  Maximinian.  Juliana  withstands, 
not  less  victoriously  than  Guthlac,  the  temptations  to  which 

'  See  Appendix  B. 


$8  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

she  is  exposed.  She  steadfastly  refuses  to  become  the  wife 
of  a  pagan,  and  for  her  chastity  and  her  faith,  in  whose 
strength  she  overcomes  the  devil  in  person,  she  suffers  the 
most  terrible  tortures,  that  finally  end  in  her  death  by  the 
svrord.  Although  the  narrative  is  better  conceived  in  the 
yiiliana  than  in  the  first  part  of  the  Guthlac,  yet  it  is  often 
unequal,  obscure,  and  even  interrupted  by  breaks.  From 
this  we  gather  that  the  poet  was  too  indifferent  to  the  mate- 
rial, as  such,  and  that  he  was  more  intent  upon  delicately 
modifying  or  altogether  removing  crudities  in  his  Latin 
original,  than  upon  giving  to  tlie  reader  in  lucid  succession 
all  essential  moments  of  the  action. 

The  tvro  religious  epics,  the  Andreas  and  the  Elene^  are 
more  attractive  than  those  heretofore  considered.  In  these 
Cynewulf  appears  perhaps  at  the  summit  of  his  art.  It  is 
true  that  here,  too,  something  is  wanting  in  the  composition 
as  a  whole.  There  are  inequalities  and  obscure  passages. 
But  the  tone,  the  spirit,  in  which  the  Christian  fable  is  con- 
ceived, come  nearer  to  the  national  epos  than  in  any  other 
poems  of  Cynewulf,  and  a  number  of  noble  descriptions 
and  bold  personifications  recall  to  us  the  best  that  is  pre- 
served of  old  popular  song. 

\Yi  Andreas^  he  represents  the  man  of  God,  who,  accord- 
ing to  his  Lord's  command,  hastens  to  the  succour  of  Mat- 
thew, capti\e  in  the  land  of  the  Mermedonians,  and  con- 
demned to  die.  A  boat  manned  by  the  Saviour  himself 
and  two  angel  mariners,  transports  him  over  the  sea  to 
Mermedonia.  He  consoles  the  prisoner  and  wondrously 
gladdens  him.  But  he  is  himself  made  captive  for  this,  and 
is  most  cruelly  tortured.  However,  strengthened  by  God, 
he  endures  all  agonies  and  works  a  great  miracle  which  awes 
the  JMermedonians  into  a  behef  in  God's  might,  and  leads 
them  to  conversion.  The  source  of  this  poem  was  probably 
a  Greek  writing  {Ilpa^ei^  ^Avöpeov  aal  Mar^eia) 
which  must  have  been  inaccessible  to  Cynewulf  save  by 
the  help  of  learned  monks. 

The  Elcjie  (legends  of  which  had  probably  also  come  to 
England  in  Greek  form)  relates  the  search  for  the  cross  and 
the  holy  nails.     This  search  was  instituted  by  Constantine, 

'  See  Appendix  B. 


CYNEWULF  AS  POET.  59 

on  account  of  his  victory  gained  through  that  glorious  sign, 
and  Saint  Helena  is  miraculously  successful  in  it. 

Not  until  the  writing  of  the  Elene  had  Cynewulf  entirely 
fulfilled  the  task  he  had  set  himself  in  consequence  of  his 
vision  of  the  cross.  Hence,  he  recalls,  at  the  close  of  the 
poem,  that  greatest  moment  of  his  life,  and  praises  the 
divine  grace  that  gave  him  deeper  knowledge,  and  revealed 
to  him  the  art  of  song.  Feeling  himself  near  the  grave,  the 
poet  mournfully  gazes  over  the  past.  As  his  youthful  dream 
has  faded,  so  everything  vanishes  from  him.  The  world 
will  pass  away,  and  then  will  follow  the  judgment;  and 
varying  former  descriptions,  Cynewulf  once  more  portrays 
it  in  brief,  incisive  language. 

The  poems  of  Cynewulf  show  us  the  artist  with  whom  *>^ 
Christian  ideas  have  become  spontaneous,  who  is  com- 
pletely filled  with  the  fervour  of  Christian  feeling,  and  who, 
at  the  same  time,  disposes  like  a  master  of  the  rich  legacy 
of  epic  diction  and  perception.  His  taste  is  not  so  cul- 
tivated as  his  faculty  of  imagination  and  his  power  of  lan- 
guage. Sometimes  his  subject-matter  is  obnoxious  to  our 
sense ;  at  other  times  our  ardour  is  dampened  by  the  ever- 
crowding  outbreaks  of  the  poet's  enthusiasm.  In  the  last 
instance  the  discord  between  the  old  form  and  the  new 
matter  prevents  a  quite  complete  enjoyment.  Such  a  dis- 
cord arises  anew  at  every  new  stage  of  culture,  and  is  re- 
ally avoided  in  very  i^^  products  of  human  art.  But 
where  form  and  matter  approach  more  closely  to  the  pres- 
ent, we  are  less  sensible  of  the  discord  between  them. 

Cynewulf  seems  nearly  related  to  Aldhelm  in  tempera- 
ment and  in  cast  of  mind.  This  relation  is  even  exhibited 
in  small  outward  peculiarities.  As  Aldhelm  is  fond  of  using 
alliteration  in  his  Latin  verses,  so  Cynewulf  often  adorns 
his  English  lines  with  rhyme.  As  Aldhelm  loves  acrostics, 
so  Cynewulf  likes  to  play  with  runes,  and  through  them  he 
has  transmitted  his  name  to  us  in  the  Christy  in  the  yuUana^ 
and  m  the  Elene. 

VL 

Christianity  has,  generally  speaking,  proved  favourable  to 

lyrical  poetry ;  it  did  not,  however,  serve  to  promote  its  rich 
and  original  development  in  England. 


6o  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

The  vigorous  growth  of  the  hero-saga  and  of  the  epic 
had  left,  at  first,  a  distinct  impress  upon  all  poetic  produc- 
tion. Had  English  culture  been  left  to  itself,  the  hymnic 
poetry,  which  still  existed  beside  the  epos,  would  perhaps 
have  yielded  a  secular  lyric,  reflecting  subjective  feeling  in 
independent  forms.  But  the  new  religion  and  its  culture 
so  severely  taxed  the  assimilative  pov/er  of  the  people  that 
the  general  creative  impulse  had  to  yield  for  a  time. 

By  a  sort  of  tacit  compromise  the  epos  was  deprived  of 
its  specifically  pagan  elements,  without,  at  the  same  time, 
becoming  Christian.  It  took  thus  a  neutral  character^  which, 
in  the  language  of  a  French  poet,  made  it  grow  old  in  a 
prolonged  childhood.  But  hymnic  poetry,  which  was  mainly 
nourished  by  pagan  mythology,  was  banned  and  marked  for 
destruction  by  the  professors  of  the  new  doctrine.  The 
pagan  religious  poetry  survived  only  in  the  mysterious  ob- 
scurity of  magic  foniiulas  and  the  like.>  On  the  other  hand, 
the  existing  lyrical  and  gnomic  elements  in  the  epos  gained 
new  importance  from  the  influence  of  Christianity.^  The 
epic  metrical  forms  were  transferred  to  Christian  hymns  and 
prayers  and  translations  of  the  psalms.  Their  predomi- 
nance in  both  lyrical  and  gnomic  verse  was  thus  confirmed, 
as  the  Widsith  early  shows,  and  a  distinct  division  of  these 
classes  from  each  other  and  from  the  epic  was  made  more 
difficult. 

A  single  Old  English  song  in  strophic  form  has  come 
down  to  us.^  Most  significantly,  it  is  also  the  only  lyric 
product  having  direct  relation  to  the  epic  saga.  It  plainly 
betokens  a  tendency  v/hich  could  not  culminate  in  an  un- 
favourable age. 

The  song  is  put  into  the  mouth  of  a  figure  of  the  epic 
age,  the  singer  Deor,  who  designates  himself  as  the  scop  of 
the  Heodenings  (the  Hegelings  of  the  German  epos  of 
Gudrun).  His  contemporary  and  happy  rival  in  art  is  Heor- 
renda,  the  Horant  of  the  Gudnm.  In  the  sorrow  that 
weighs  upon  him,  Deor  seeks  comfort  by  summoning  up  a 
number  of  the  heroes  of  saga  who  have  suffered  and  over- 
come a  heavy  fate:  Weland  fettered  by  Nithhad;  Beadohild 
made  pregnant  by  Weland ;  the  Gothic  king  Theodoric  cast 

^  Biblictluk  der  ags.  Poesie,  I.,  249;  Rieger,  Alt-und  aM^ehäch^isches  Lesebxtch^ 
p.  83. 


deor's  lament.  6 1 

into  exile;    the   heroes   subdued    by  Eormanric's   victory. 
The  close  runs : 

I  was  long  scop  of  the  Heodenings,  dear  to  my  lord ;  my  name  was 
Deor.  I  had  a  good  retainership,  a  gracious  lord  for  many  years,  un- 
til this  Heorrenda,  the  song-skilled  man,  obtained  the  right  of  the 
land,  which  the  protector  of  eorls  granted  to  me  before.— ^That  was 
withstood;  so  may  this  be.i 

Excluding  an  interpolation  of  some  length,  the  poem  is 
run  off  in  six  strophes  of  six  lines  or  less.  Each  strophe 
has  the  following  refrain  :  ])£ss  ofereode^  \iisses  swa  ma^g. 

No  relation  to  the  hero-saga  is  discoverable  in  the  remain- 
ing monuments  of  the  Old  English  lyric ;  and  there  proba- 
bly existed  none.  They  entirely  lack  proper  names,  and  the 
allusions  regarding  persons,  places,  and  events  are  vague  and 
often  very  obscure.  But  that  these  poems  are  to  be  taken 
as  directly  expressing  each  the  feelings  of  a  special  poet, 
and  not  rather  those  of  another  person,  seems  by  no  means 
so  certain  as  has  been  claimed.  The  epic  introduction  to 
the  Wanderer^  as  well  as  the  close,  may  be  additions  of  a 
later  time ;  because  in  them  is  expressed  a  Christian  senti- 
ment and  view  of  life,  with  a  distinctness  quite  absent  from 
the  body  of  the  poem.  But  that  there  could  have  been  any 
thought  of  making  additions  like  these  shows  in  what  light 
such  poems  were  regarded.  Another  poem,  the  Seafarer^ 
seems  to  have  been  written  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue; 
though  this  is  indicated  m.erely  by  a  succession  of  directly 
opposite  viev/s  and  ideas  in  repeated  alternation.^ 

The  non-strophic  form,  derived  from  the  epos,  imposed 
no  external  limits  upon  the  poet ;  hence  it  lures  him  to  wider 
4-ange,  and  yields  a  style  closely  resembhng  the  epic.  Still 
more  than  the  epos,  this  lyrical  verse  is  fond  of  general 
propositions,  suggested  to  the  poet  by  his  own  lot,  and 
from  which  he  returns  to  his  own  particular  case.  The 
composition  is  based  largely  upon  the  principle  of  varia- 
tions; hence  repetitions  are  not  wanting  that  weaken  the 
effect  of  single  fine  passages  and  disturb  the  symmetry  of  the 
whole. 

The  Old  English  lyrical  feeling  knows  in  reality  but  one 
art-form,  that  of  the  elegy.     Painful  longing  for  vanished 

J  v.  36-42. 

^ Bibliothek  der  ags.  Poesie,  L,  238. 

8  tbid. ,  241. 


62  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

happiness  is  its  key  note.  It  seeks  to  voice  this  mood  in 
reflective  and  descriptive  language.  It  is  fond  of  the  image 
of  physical  destruction,  as  is  shown  in  the  Wanderer,  v.  77 
et  seq.  The  fine  fragment  called  the  Ruin  ^  is  founded  en- 
tirely uj)on  this  theme.  It  occurs  also  in  the  epos;  as  in 
Beowulf,  V.  2255-2266,  where  we  find  the  lament  of  that 
lonely  man  who  is  the  last  of  a  noble  race. 

The  epic  character  of  the  ancient  lyric  appears  especially 
in  this :  that  the  song  is  less  the  utterance  of  a  momentary 
feeling  than  the  portrayal  of  a  lasting  state,  perhaps  the  re- 
flection of  an  entire  life,  generally  that  of  one  isolated  or 
bereft  by  death  or  exile  of  protectors  and  friends.  His  rov- 
ing upon  the  cold,  desolate  sea,  and  his  sojourn  in  the  dark 
forest  are  graphically  painted;  and  in  contrast,  the  joys  of 
his  early  home,  to  which  memory  returns  with  longing.  The 
picture  of  the  wanderer,  the  faithful  retainer  whose  beloved 
lord  lies  beneath  the  earth,  is  especially  touching: 

For  that  knows  he  who  thus  must  long  forego 
The  loving  counsel  of  his  dear  lord ;  then  oft 
Both  sorrow  and  sleep  bind  the  poor  solitary ; 
He  dreams  he  clasps  and  kisses  his  lord, 
And  lays  his  hand  and  head  upon  his  knee, 
As  when  he  whilom  enjoyed  the  gift-stool. 
Then  awakens  again  the  friendless  wanderer, 
Sees  before  him  the  fallow  waves, 
The  sea-birds  bathe  and  spread  their  feathers  ; 
Sees  fall  the  snow  and  frost-rime  mingled  with  hail. 
Then  are  to  him  harsher  the  wounds  of  his  heart ; 
In  grief  for  the  loved  one,  sorrow  grows  anew, 
And  memories  of  kindred  pass  over  his  mind ; 
He  joyfully  greets  them,  gazing  eagerly  on  them. 
But  the  presence  of  men  again  passeth  away  ; 
The  sense  of  the  fleeting  ones  incites  not  many 
Well-known  sayings.     Sorrow  is  renewed 
With  him  who  shall  seek  very  often  to  send 
The  weary  spirit  over  the  frozen  waves. "^ 

Not  less  indicative  than  such  sorrow  and  longing  as  to 

this  poetry  and  this  people,  is  the  manly  resignation  with 

which  the  hero  locks  his  grief  in  his  own  breast : 

For  sooth,  I  know 
That  this  with  a  hero  is  high,  noble  custom, 
That  he  bindeth  firm  his  bosom's  fa.stness, 
Holds  safe  and  sure  his  treasure-chamber, 

^ BihUoiJick  der af^s.  Poesie,  I,  248. 
*  IVafuicrer,  v.  37-57. 


MESSAGE  OF  THE  HUSBAND.  6^ 

And  in  his  thoughts  thinks  what  he  will. 
A  soul  of  sadness  cannot  stand  against  fate, 
Nor  can  get  help  a  heart  full  of  woe  : 
In  their  breast-coffer  therefore  often  bind  fast 
Men  who  love  honour,  their  unhappy  spirits.' 

Christianity  supplemented  this  resignation  with  the  solace 

which  springs  from  faith  in  God's  providence ; 

Well  to  him  who  mercy  seeks. 
Solace  of  the  father  in  the  heavens,  where  all  security  dwells. 

The  Seafarer  is  quite  permeated  by  Christian  views :  the 
contrast  of  the  pains  and  terrors  of  the  lonely  sea-voyage 
with  the  longing  which  yet  impels  the  heart  to  the  sea  in 
spring,  is  opposed  to  the  contrast  of  this  perishable  earthly 
life  with  the  eternal  jubilee  of  heaven  to  be  won  by  bold 
endeavour. 

The  passion  of  love  is  also  touched  upon  in  this  poetry ; 
if  only  the  love  between  husband  and  v/ife  whom  fate  has 
parted.  As  Cynewulf,  in  his  first  riddle,  makes  his  wife 
grieve  for  her  absent  "  Wolf,"  so  there  find  utterance  in 
another,  and  unfortunately  very  obscure  poem,  the  sorrow  and 
yearning  of  a  wife  exiled  from  her  husband  to  a  dark  wood.^ 
The  love  of  the  husband  is  expressed  in  a  poem  ^  in  which 
a  staff',  inscribed  with  runes,  speaks  as  messenger  of  a  hus- 
band to  his  spouse.  Enemies  have  driven  the  man  from 
his  people.  He  now  asks  his  wife  to  come  to  him  over  the 
sea,  when  she  hears  the  cuckoo's  lament  in  the  wood.  Slie 
is  to  let  no  one  dissuade  her  from  the  journey,  for  he  is 
pining  for  her.  He  has  gold  enough  and  beauteous  lands 
among  the  strange  people;  many  proud  heroes  serve  him, 
though,  a  lonely  fugitive,  he  has  forsaken  his. native  land  : 

^      The  man  has  now 
Overcome  the  woe.     He  has  no  wishes'  longing 
For  steeds  nor  for  jewels  nor  joys  of  the  mead, 
For  treasures  on  earth  that  an  earl  may  possess, 
Daughter  of  the  king,  if  thee  he  must  spare, 
Against  the  vows  by  you  both  given.« 

Gnomic  verse  also  adapted  itself  to  the  metrical  system 
of  the  epos.  There  is  evidence,  it  is  true,  of  isolated  at- 
tempts at  strophic  division  in  some  extant  gnomic  poetry. 

1  Wattderer,  v.  ii-iS. 
^ Bibliothek  der  ags.  Poesie,  I.,  245.  " 

^  Ibid.,  p.  246. 
^  Botschaß  des  Gemahls  (Message  of  the  Husband),  v.  a.3-47. 


64  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

Half  verses  are  not  infrequently  inserted  among  the  long 
lines :  a  change  which  became  the  groundwork  of  a  distinct 
form  in  Scandinavian  countries;  but  which  in  England, 
where  it  was  only  sporadically  used,  does  not  seem  to  have 
had  any  result.  In  general,  long  line  simply  follows  long  line, 
and  the  poet  is  fond  of  beginning  a  new  maxim  or  a  chain 
of  them  with  the  second  half  of  a  verse.  Consistency  in 
this  (as  especially  in  the  aphorisms  of  the  Cotton  manu- 
script ^)  denotes  that  the  poet  worked  over  a  material,  itself 
essentially  ancient,  for  his  own  purposes. 

The  original  form  of  this  gnomic  poetry  was  long  pre- 
served. The  poet  seems  to  have  set  together  a  number 
of  aphorisms  or  propositions  with  no  tie  save  chance  se- 
quence of  thought,  which  was  often  suggested  by  the  allit- 
eration merely.  Regard  for  the  requirements  of  oral  de- 
livery, and  the  patience  of  the  hearers,  may  have  determined 
the  length  of  the  whole.  These  poems,  of  which  we  have 
four,  are  a  succession  of  proverbs  and  short  sayings,  some 
trivial,  others  more  noteworthy,  at  times  amplified,  and  oc- 
casionally varied  by  pretty  descriptions.  Some  of  the 
gnomic  poets  affect  an  edifying  close.  Instead  of  character- 
ising farther,  we  give  the  opening  of  one  of  these  poems, 
which  in  their  details  are  of  the  highest  interest  to  the  histo- 
rian of  human  culture  : 

Frost  shall  freeze,  fire  melt  wood, 
The  earth  shall  green;   the  ice  shall  arch, 
The  water-helm  wear,  surround  wondrously 
The  earth's  green  blades.     One  shall  unbind 
The  frost's  hard  fetters,  the  Almighty  Father. 
The  winter  shall  wane,  the  weather  renew 
The  summer's  hot  sky,  the  sea  in  motion  ; 
In  the  deep  is  longest  the  dead  wave  buried. 
Into  fire  shall  the  holly,  divided  be  the  heritage 
Of  man  swept  away.     Fame  is  the  sweetest. 
A  king  shall  buy  a  queen  for  a  bargain 
With  beakers  and  bracelets,  and  both  shall  first 
Be  good  with  gifts.    The  man  shall  grow 
In  war  ever  waging,  the  woman  flourish 
Beloved  of  the  people,  of  lenient  mood  be, 
Shall  safe  hold  secrets  and  soft  heart  show, 
Treasures  and  steeds  give  still  at  the  mead-bout; 
Before  the  followers,  greet  first  the  prince. 
The  shield  of  the  nobles,  she  shall  at  all  times, 
The  first  brimmed  cup  to  the  high  commander, 

^  BitUotltek  der  a^s.  Poesie,  II.,  34G. 


RUNE-SONG.  65 

Shall  speedily  hand ;  the  lords  of  the  house  shall 
"Wisdom  seek  together,  counsel  sage  to  learn. 
The  ship  shall  be  nailed,  the  shield  be  bound, 
The  light  board  of  linden.     Beloved  is  the  guest 
To  the  Frisian  wife  when  the  float  lies  still, 
His  keel  is  come  and  her  husband  home, 
She  hastens  him  in,  her  house  provider, 
His  weedy  garment  washes,  wet  with  the  sea, 
In  new  dress  decks  him :  on  land  dwells  for  him 
What  his  love  has  longed  for.  ^ 

Another  form  in  which  the  poet  treats  a  given  theme 
with  rich  illustration  may  be  a  less  primitive  one;  as  in  case 
of  the  poems  on  the  various  Gifts  ^  and  on  the  various  Des- 
tinies ^  of  men.  They  bear  a  near  relation  to  some  strictly 
rehgious  poems,  as  for  instance,  to  the  poetical  sermons  on 
the  mind  and  the  falseness  of  men.  Indeed,  it  cannot  be 
doubted  that  there  existed  especially  in  this  species  of  Hter- 
ature  a  direct  reciprocal  influence  between  secular  and  relig- 
ious poetry. 

In  this  connection  may  be  mentioned  a  poem  which  might 
as  well  have  been  named  in  the  last  chapter.  It  introduces 
to  us  a  wise  father  teaching  his  son  wisdom  and  virtue.  His 
precepts  embrace,  in  all,  ten  sections.'*  The  idea  of  this  poem, 
at  least  in  its  most  general  outlines,  may  have  been  taken 
from  the  Proverbia  Salomonis^  as  is  suggested  partly  by  the 
urgent  warning  against  strange  women.  It  leads  us  into 
that  circle  of  mediaeval  poetry,  for  which  the  Disticha  of 
Dionysius  Cato,  as  well  as  oriental  writings  of  a  kindred 
character,  yielded  a  rich  material. 

The  so-called  Rune-song^  although  not  of  very  great  an- 
tiquity in  its  present  form,  is  most  closely  related  to  the  old 
popular  poetry.  It  contains  a  poetical  interpretation  of  the 
names  of  twenty-nine  runes.  To  each  of  these  symbols  is 
devoted  a  strophe  consisting  of  from  two  to  five,  but  usu- 
ally of  three,  long  lines.  If  there  are  unmistakable  traces  of 
Christian  influence  in  this  poem,  yet  plain  tokens  of  the 
national  myth  are  not  absent,  though  they  appear  in  the 
form  of  the  hero-saga.  The  rune  Ing^  bears  the  name  af 
the  divine  ancestor  of  the  Ingasvones,  and  is  explained  as 

^Bibliothek  der ags.  Poesie,  IL,  341,  v.  72-100. 

^  Ibid.,  I.,  204. 

3  Ibid.,  I.,  ^.o-j. 

^  Bibliothek  der  ags.  Poesie,  II.,  347. 

'The  phonetic  value  of  this  sign  was,  at  a  more  ancient  time,  ng,  later  in§. 

F 


66  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

follows :  "  Ing  was  first  seen  among  the  East-Danes,  until 
he  passed  over  the  sea,  (eastward  ?) ;  the  chariot  rolled  after 
huTi  .  .  .  .  " 

The  chariot  was  the, emblem  of  the  god  Ing,  or  Frea,  as 
well  as  of  the  goddess  Nerthus. 

Paganism  lived  most  tenaciously  in  formulas  of  incanta- 
tion. Some  of  these  have  come  down  in  modified  shape  far 
into  the  Middle  Ages,  and  even  to  modern  times.  Many 
such  formulas  have  also  been  transmitted  to  us  in  their  orig- 
inal Old  English  form,  but  unfortunately  they  still  await 
thorough  collection  and  consecutive  explanation.  With  all 
her  pains  to  root  out  this  superstition,  the  church  could  not 
prevent  one,  in  need  of  ])rotection,  from  invoking  supernat- 
ural powers  not  to  be  found  in  the  Credo  and  the  martyr- 
ologies,  nor  a  man  attacked  by  unexpected  disease  or  mis- 
fortune, from  having  recourse  to  other  exorcisms  than  those 
sanctioned  by  spiritual  authority. 

One  seized  by  sudden,  stinging  pains  {/cers/icc),^  believes 
himself  wounded  by  the  darts  of  gigantic  vromen  that  pass 
over  the  land  with  a  loud  noise,  or  by  elves  or  gods ;  while 
another,  standing  covered  by  his  shield  when  the  hags  let 
fly  their  whistling  spears,  seeks  to  cure  him.  The  healer, 
in  performing  the  requisite  ceremonies,  relates  the  occur- 
rence in  the  epic  manner,  but  often  breaks  his  narrative  to 
conjure  the  spear  to  come  out,  to  dissolve,  wherever  it  may 
be,  in  skin,  flesh,  blood,  or  limb. 

Such  superstition  was  better  tolerated  when  it  transferred  it- 
self to  Christian  belief;  when  the  Virgin  Mary,  the  apostles 
and  saints,  even  Christ  himself,  took  the  place  of  the  helping, 
protecting  gods  and  goddesses,  as  grew  general  in  the 
course  of  time.  The  devil,  on  the  other  hand,  became  the 
heir  of  the  pagan  powers  of  evil,  many  of  whom  lived  on 
apart  as  servants  and  followers  of  the  evil  one,  or  in  less 
harmful  form,  as  teasing  elves.  Monuments  are  not  want- 
ing in  which  pagan  and  Christian  elements  are  contiguous. 
The  Virgin  Mary  is  addressed  direcdy  after  the  earth  aijd 
sky  in  one  of  the  charms  to  be  spoken  at  the  disenchant- 
ment of  a  field ;  and  in  another  to  the  same  end,  the  bless- 
ing of  the  all-ruling,  eternal  Lord  is  invoked  for  the  goddess 

*'  Erke  the  mother  of  the  earth." 

^ , 

•  Qompate  Jacob  Gninm,  DcutscJu  Mytliolcg-Uy  fourth  edition,  p.  1039. 


RISE  OF  WESSEX.  67 

VII. 

The  Old  English  poetry,  as  far  as  we  can  see,  flourished 
chiefly  in  the  Anglian  districts.  Caedmon  and  Cynewulf 
composed  in  Northumbria.  The  Beowulf  epos  also  seems 
to  have  been  edited  at  an  Anglian  court. 

But  it  is  a  noteworthy  phenomenon  that  the  entire  Old 
English  poesy,  with  meagre  exceptions,  is  transmitted  to  us 
only  in  the  West-Saxon  dialect,  or  at  least  in  one  closely 
related  to  the  West-Saxon.  From  this  we  see,  at  a  glance, 
tliat  the  centre  of  literary  growth  was  in  time  transferred 
from  the  north  toward  the  south,  and  also  that  this  second 
period  of  literature  yielded  poetry  in  no  great  degree.  It 
was,  in  one  sense,  the  era  of  the  beginning  of  prose,  while 
poetry  mainly  drew  from  the  ancient  treasures,  which  were 
copied  and  translated  into  West-Saxon. 

The  florescence  of  poetry  and  the  florescence  of  prose 
are  separated  by  an  interval  of  public  evil  and  misfortune, 
by  a  dreadful  time,  whose  storms  destroyed  the  Anglian 
states ;  whereas  Wessex,  though  grievously  shattered,  finally 
came  forth  from  them  more  powerful  than  ever. 

From  the  beginning  Wessex  had  been  conspicuous  among 
the  southern  states.  Mercia  had,  indeed,  in  tlie  course  of 
time,  taken  from  her  a  large  part  of  her  territory,  and  south 
of  the  Thames  and  Avon,  she  had  maintained  her  independ- 
ence against  her  long  dominant  neighbour  only  by  hard 
struggles.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  she  had  constantly  ex- 
tended her  boundaries  westward  toward  the  Britons  of 
Cornwall.  Hence,  with  the  accession  of  Ecgberht  (in  800) 
begins  the  epoch  in  which  Wessex  took  the  rank  of  leadirkg 
power  in  Britain,  more  decidedly  than  any  English  state  had 
done  before.  The  final  overthrow  of  Mercia  was  achieved 
after  a  long  contest.  All  the  English  states,  as  well  as  the 
Britons  in  Wales  and  Cornwall,  recognised  the  supremacy 
of  Wessex.  The  smaller  Saxon  kingdoms  and  Kent  were 
united  to  a  realm  more  closely  dependent  on  the  ruling 
power,  the  West-Saxon  king  usually  granting  their  crown 
in  fief  to  his  successor. 

But  a  danger  from  the  east  began  to  threaten  the  state, 
now  beginning  to  unify,  even  before  the  death  of  Ecgberht, 
and  to  make  precarious  all  that  had  been  gained. 


6S  BEFORE   THE    CONQUEST. 

The  Scandinavian  peoples  of  Norway  and  Denmark  had 
as  yet  scarcely  been  touched  at  all  by  the  influences  of 
Christianity  and  European  culture,  and  continued  their  an- 
cient seafaring  and  piratical  Hfe.  At  the  beginning  of 
the  ninth  century  their  inroads  grew  more  extended,  more 
systematic  and  vigorous.  The  Northmen  became  to  the 
Christian  nations  of  that  epoch  what  the  Huns  had  been 
during  the  age  of  the  great  migrations.  The  north  coast 
of  the  German  ocean,  France,  Spain,  even  the  Mediterra- 
nean, felt  the  daring  and  savage  fury  of  the  Vikings.  But 
no  country  suffered  so  much  from  their  periodical  inroads  as 
England.  Here  it  was  not  alone  the  welfare  of  this  or  that 
province,  not  the  numberless  monuments  and  nurseries  of 
culture,  which  stood  in  jeopardy ;  but  the  struggle,  fought 
with  varying  success,  involved  the  very  life  of  the  state  and 
the  future  of  the  collective  national  culture.  Its  issue  also 
bore  decisively  upon  the  destiny  of  Europe. 

It  became  obvious,  from  the  year  _866,  that  the  Danes 
were  trying  to  establish  themselves  upon  English  soil.  They 
came  no  longer  in  the  character  of  mere  plunderers,  but  as 
conquerors.  The  English  arms,  though  occasionally  victo- 
rious, proved  upon  the  whole  inadequate  to  cope  with  the 
impetuous  onset  of  their  hordesj  The  billows  of  invasion 
rose  ever  higher,  and  overflowed  ever  broader  territories. 
The  distress  reached  its  climax  in  878,  when  Ecgberht's 
youngest  grandson  had  reigned  seven  years.  It  was  that 
Aelfred,  whom  the  Middle  Ages  called  England's  Darling, 
but  whom  after  times  have  named  the  Great. 

Aelfred  saw  the  north,  east,  and  a  large  part  of  the  mid- 
dle of  his  kingdom  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  Even  Wes- 
sex  herself  v/as  now  invaded  by  his  devastating  hosts.  But 
this  extreme  danger  brought  out  all  the  king's  heroism  and 
military  greatness,  as  well  as  the  martial  ability  of  the  West- 
Saxons.  The  height  called  the  "  island  of  Aethelings " 
(A^pe/mga  cige=AthQ\ney)  rose  like  a  natural  fortress  out  of 
the  fen-lands  of  Somerset.  Aelfred  betook  himself  thither 
with  the  loyal  followers  remaining  to  him.  There  he  in- 
trenched himself,  and,  maintaining  his  position  against  the 
Danes,  he  succeeded  in  forming  the  nucleus  of  an  army. 
This  was  soon  enabled  by  reinforcements  from  Somerset, 
Hampshire,  and  Wiltshire,  to  advance  to  the  attack,  and 


A£LFRED.  6g 

achieved  a  brilliant  victory  over  the  Danes.  The  outconiö 
of  this  was  a  treaty  by  which  England  was  cut  into  two 
territories,  the  boundary  between  them  being  a  line  divid- 
ing Mercia,  and  nearly  identical  with  the  original  boundary 
line  between  the  Angles  and  the  southern  tribes.  The  Danes 
had  sway  in  the  north-eastern  territory;  the  south-western 
territory  was  subject  to  the  king  of  the  West-Saxons;  but  in 
such  a  manner  that  the  part  of  Mercia  belonging  to  it  had 
its  own  laws,  its  own  parliament,  and  its  own  ealdorman,  and 
enjoyed  a  high  degree  of  independence.   ■ 

As  soon  as  a  more  peaceful  state  of  affairs  permitted  it, 
Aelfred  turned  his  every  energy  to  the  internal  improvement 
of  his  country,  which  had  sadly  degenerated.  The  national 
weal  had  vitally  suffered.  Commerce  was  ruined.  The 
people  had  fallen  back  into  savagery.  The  servants  of  the 
church  had  become  worldly  in  mind  and  manners.  A  great 
number  of  monasteries  had  been  destroyed  or  their  libraries 
burned,  and  their  occupants  dispersed;  uncertainty  had  come 
into  all  relations  of  life.  No  king  ever  had  a  heavier  task  be- 
fore him  than  Aelfred,  and  none  ever  performed  it  better.  He 
was  active  in  all  fields  of  improvement,  helping,  building,  col- 
lecting, ordering.  We  must  pass  over  what  he  did  as  law- 
giver and  ruler,  his  work  in  the  construction  of  cities  and  for- 
tifications, and  the  building  up  of  an  English  fleet.  Only 
those  phases  of  his  manifold  activity  can  be  touched  upon 
which  directly  influenced  the  literature. 

The  measures  which  Aelfred  took  to  restore  Christian  cult- 
ure and  discipline  in  the  church  were  likev/ise  directed  to 
the  advancement  ofpopiilar  education,  and  the  awakening 
of  scholarship  in  the  clergy.  Old  monasteries  were  rebuilt; 
new  ones  were  erected,  and  often  filte'd'^with  foreign  monks, 
who  Yveve  to  enlighten  their  English  colleagues  in  right-living 
as  well  as  learning.  Learned  and  pious  men  were  promot- 
ed to  high  ecclesiastical  oflices.  In  the  monastery  schools 
the  youths  were  instructed  in  reading,  writing,  and  rehgion, 
including  those  not  destined  for  the  service  of  the  church. 
It  was  Aelfred's  wish  that  all  who  were  free-born  and  did  not 
lack  means  should  learn  to  read  English;  those  ambitious  to 
advance  farther,  to  enter  the  church,  should  have  instruction 
in  Latin.  With  his  own  children,  and  in  his  own  house,  the 
king  set  the  entire  land  an  example  in  the  training  of 
youth. 


fO  BEFORE    THE    CONQUEST. 

Charlemagne  had  already  been  a  model  to  Aelfred's  grand- 
father Ecgberht,  in  the  domains  of  military  art  and  of  poli- 
tics. He  now  became  a  model  to  Aelfred  in  another  field. 
Like  him  the  great  West-Saxon  king  shunned  no  pains  and 
cost  to  draw  able  minds  into  his  service,  from  abroad  as  well 
as  at  home;  and  if  he  did  not  succeed  in  procuring  men  so 
great  as  those  whom  we  find  about  Charlemagne,  he  largely 
made  up  this  deficiency  by  his  personal  zeal,  and  the  en- 
thusiasm with  which  he  directly  inspired  his  co-labourers. 
Five  men  are  pre-eminent  among  those  v/ho  helped  to  further 
Aelfred's  plans  :  two  Mercians,  Werferth,  bishop  of  Worces- 
ter, and  Plegmund,  who  was  made  archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
in  890 ;  the  Frank,  Grimbald,  whom  Aelfred  made  abbot  of 
the  new  minster  built  beside  the  old  one  in  Winchester;^ 
John,  a  Saxon  from  the  continent  (from  Corvey),  to  whom 
he  entrusted  the  convent  upon  the  island  of  Athelney;  but 
nearest  to  the  king  stood  the  Welshman  Asser,  later  bishop 
of  Sherborne.  From  him  Aelfred  learned  most,  though 
Asser  elid  not  willingly  forsake  the  solitude  of  the  convent 
for  the  court,  and  with  him  he  exchanged  views  most  unre- 
servedly. It  was  this  Asser  who  began,  during  Aelfred's 
lifetime,  to  write  a  biography  of  the  king,  a  work  v/hich  ha.^' 
come  down  to  us,  though  not  in  its  original  form.^ 

Aelfred's  own  early  education  had  been  very  defective. 
lie  had  doubtless  become  most  familiar  with  the  national 
saga,  and  the  English  songs,  which  he  read  or  heard,  had 
quickened  his  sense  of  the  grandeur  of  the  Teutonic  hero- 
world,  and  the  latent  beauties  of  his  mother-tongue.  Not 
until  after  middle  age  did  he  find  leisure  amid  the"  number- 
less duties  of  government  to  learn  Latin,  and  to  read  a  num- 
ber of  Latin  authors.  His  appetite  for  knowledge  was  ex- 
traordinarily keen.  But  he  did  not  study  merely  to  satisfy 
this ;  his  object  was  to  revive,  by  his  example,  the  spirit  of 
learning  which  had  waned  and  was  all  but  extinct  in  the 
land. 

Owing  to  the  great  scarcity  of  books  at  that  time,  m.eans 

had  to  be  taken  to  make  certain  scientific  and  theological 

writings  accessible  to  a  larger  number  of  readers;  but  the 

knowledge  of  Latin  had  almost  disappeared  from  England, 
«...«M — ■ 

*  The  building  was  not  completed  until  after  Aelfred's  death. 
"  See  Appendix  C 


EARUEST  PROSE.  ^1 

Hence  Aelfred  himself  began  to  translate,  and  he  became, 
not  indeed  the  creator,  but  a  most  potent  promoter  of  Eng- 
lish prose ;  he  was  beyond  question  the  most  widely  influen- 
tial writer  of  his  century. 

The  most  ancient  monuments  of  English  prose  are  com- 
pilations of  laws.  The  first  Christian  king  in  England, 
Aethelberht  of  Kent,  founded  such  collections  as  early  as 
thebeginningof  the  seventh  century,  and  after  him  Hlothere 
and  Eadric;  they  were  followed  by  Wihtred,  of  the  same 
kingdom,  in  the  beginning  of  the  next  century.  The  laws 
of  Ine,  the  king  of  Wessex,  were  written  down  not  long 
before  the  year  ö^^j  those  of  the  great  Offa  of  Mercia  follow- 
ed after  a  considerable  intei-val,  but  they  were  lost.  Aelfred 
also  took  up  the  role  of  law-giver.  His  code,  based  upon  a 
revision  and  sifting  of  the  laws  in  force,  adopted  much  from 
the  laws  of  Aethelberht,  as  well  as  from  those  of  Ofifa,  and 
were  probably  meant  to  supplement  Ine's  compilation. 
But  with  all  its  conservatism,  this  code  does  not  lack  new 
statutes,  and  they  point  to  the  enhanced  power  of  the  king- 
dom and  the  increased  prominence  of  the  church.  More 
comprehensive  and  more  copious  than  the  earlier  codifica- 
tions, the  style  of  Aelfred's  law-book  approaches  more  nearly 
the  boundaries  of  artistic  prose ;  especially  in  some  portions 
of  the  introduction.  In  this,  extracts  from  the  Mosaic  Law 
are  joined  to  citations  from  the  New  Testament  by  brief 
narrative  passages,  which  lead  finally  to  the  exposition  of 
Aelfred's  own  undertaking. 

Records  and  like  documents  do  not  seem  to  have  been 
written  in  English  before  the  eighth  century. 

Continuous  translations  of  single  books  of  the  Holy  Script- 
ures, of  theological  and  liturgical  works,  probably  did  not 
exist  at  all  in  Aelfred's  time ;  such  writings  of  this  kind  as 
had  already  existed  seem  to  have  been  no  longer  extant ; 
as  an  unfinished  translation  of  the  Gospel  of  John  undertaken 
by  Beda  near  his  death.  Teachers  had  to  use  glosses  and 
interlineary  versions  in  instruction. 

But  there  was  already  an  element  in  that  age  for  which 
other  nations  might  well  have  envied  England.  This  was 
the  beginning  of  history  in  the  vernacular,  in  the  older  parts 
of  the  so-called  Saxon,  or  Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle. 

Monks,  in  the  English  monasteries,  seem  early  to  have 


12  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

begun  to  make  brief  notes  relating  to  contemporary  and  re- 
cent history,  which  were  put  down  originally  upon  the  edge 
of  the  Easter-tables.  We  must  leave  the  question  undecid- 
ed where  tlie  English  language  v.as  first  used  in  these  chro- 
nological summaries,  whether  in  Canterbury  or  Winchester. 
At  all  events  the  ancient  ecclesiastical,  and  later  secular 
capital  of  the  West-Saxon  land  was  certainly  the  spot  where 
this  annual  account  in  the  national  tongue  was  continued 
most  uninterruptedly,  and  where,  from  such  small  beginnings, 
a  higher  plane  was  first  reached  in  the  writing  of  annals. 
The  oldest  chronicles  are  exceedingly  meagre  and  broken. 
'  Gradually,  though  by  no  means  continuously,  the  years 
skipped  become  fewer,  and  the  accounts  grow  full,  clear,  and 
connected.  The  style  of  these  annals  attains  a  notably  loftier 
impulse  in  the  days  of  Aethelwulf,  when  the  consciousness 
of  the  greatness  of  Wessex  established  by  Ecgberht,  and  the 
influence  of  the  wise  and  cultured  bishop  Swithun,  combined 
to  inspire  the  chronicler.  The  idea  of  a  complete  recension 
of  the  annals  extant  seems  to  have  been  conceived  at  the 
time  of  Aethelwulf,  or  at  least  soon  after  his  death. ^  JSIany 
gaps  in  the  older  section  were  tilled,  many  years'  reports 
were  enriched  by  new  entries,  and  even  circumstantial  nar- 
rative^ was  occasionally  inserted.  The  thread  of  chronicle 
/  was  spun  back  from  the  seventh  century  as  far  as  the  times 
V  of  Hengest  and  Horsa.  Oral  tradition,  national  saga  and 
\j5oetry,  yielded  perhaps  most  of  the  material  for  both  these 
extensions  of  the  chronicle.  The  ancient  catalogue  of  the 
West-Saxon  kin^s  was  continued  to  Aethelwulf.  and  with  the 
addition  of  his  pedigree  back  to  Cerdic,  was  placed  at  the 
head  of  this  work ;  while  another  genealogy'  of  the  prince 
was  given  near  the  end,  with  the  account  of  Aethelwulf's 
death  (855).  It  extended  back  far  beyond  Vv'oden  to  Noah, 
and  to  Adam  himself. 

The  Winchester  Annals  existed  in  this  form,  or  but  slight- 
ly extended,  when  Aeltred  ascended  the  throne;    and  the 

1  The  annals  of  Canterbury  and  Winchester  were  perhaps  blended  at  this  time.  If 
the  oldest  known  recension  of  the  West-saxon  chronicles  is  at  all  based  upon  such  a 
union  (which  is  possible,  though  in  no  respect  proved),  certainly  the  reign  of  Aethel- 
wulf would  have  been  a  time  better  adapted  to  such  a  process  than  any  earlier  epoch. 

2  See  in  the  report  for  the  year  755  the  anticipatory  account  of  King  Cynewulf 's 
death ;  compared  with  the  entry  for  the  year  7S4,  when  the  event  really  occurred,  this 
proves  unquestionably  to  be  an  interpolation,  whose  groundwork  was  perhaps  ao 
English  song. 


ENGLISH    ANNALS.  73 

first  years  of  his  reign  were  as  unfavourable  to  the  chronicler  as 
had  been  the  reigns  of  his  brothers  who  had  preceded  him. 
Not  until  the  brilliant  victories  of  878,  and  of  the  subsequent 
years,  had  added  new  nourishment  to  the  national  pride, 
and  the  sense  of  security  had  returned  with  the  stronger 
might  of  the  realm,  did  a  new  epoch  dawn  for  historiography, 
an  epoch  created  as  much  by  the  inspiring  power  of  Ael- 
fred's  deeds  as  by  his  direct  promotion  of  creative  literary 
endeavour. 

The  annals  from  the  year  S66,  that  of  Aethelred's  ascent 
of  the  throne,  to  the  year  887,  seem  to  be  the  work  of  one 
mind.  Not  a  single  year  is  passed  over,  and  to  several  is 
granted  considerable  space,  especially  to  the  years  871,  878, 
and  885.  The  whole  has  gained  a  certain  roundness  and 
fulness,  because  the  events — nearly  all  of  them  episodes  in 
the  ever-recurring  conflict  with  the  Danes — are  taken  in 
their  connection,  and  the  thread  dropped  in  one  year  is  re- 
sumed in  the  next.  Not  only  is  the  style  in  itself  concise; 
it  has  a  sort  of  nervous  severity  and  pithy  rigour.  The  con- 
struction is  often  antiquated,  and  suggests  at  times  the  free- 
dom of  poetry;^  though  this  purely  historical  prose  is  far 
removed  from  poetry  in  profusion  of  language. 

The  portion  extending  from  888  to  891,  which  was  added 
to  the  West-Saxon  annals  during  the  years  next  following,  is 
less  noteworthy,  because  it  relates  to  an  epoch  in  which 
England  was  at  peace.  But  a  new  revision  of  the  whole  was 
undertaken  in  those  years;  and  like  tha*-  of  the  year  855,  it 
made  additional  entries  in  the  older  portions,  and  appended 
an  entirely  new  part  to  the  whole  work.  Annals  of  the 
pre-English  history  of  Britain  were  added  to  the  list  of 
West-Saxon  kings  carried  down  to  Aelfred.  These  annals 
began  with  our  era,  or  more  exactly  with  the  vear  60  B.  C. 
Thus  the  annals  of  Winchester  received  the  form  in  which 
we  know  them,  the  form  most  perfectly  transmitted  in  the 
manuscript^  presented  by  Archbishop  Parker  to  Corpus 
Christi  college,  Cambridge.  The  original  part  of  this  MS., 
written  by  a  single  hand,  extends  to  the  year  891. 

1  Compare  the  following  sentence  (year  876)  Earle,  Two  of  the  Saxon  Chronicles 
Parallel,  page  7S  :  and  hie ßd  tinder ßäm  lue  7iihtes  bestcelon  ßcere  ß-et'de  se  gehor- 
soda  here  into  Fscanceaster.  "And  they  meanwhile,  during  the  night,  stole  away 
from  the  host  (English),  the  mounted  host  (Danes)  into  Exeter."  Fierd\s  the  stand- 
ing expression  for  the  English,  as  here  for  the  Danish  army. 

*  In  the  library  of  that  college  it  is  marked  M.C.C.C.C.CLXXIII.     See  Appendix  C. 


f4  BEFORE    THE    CONQUESf. 

The  additions  made  for  the  older  epoch  in  this  recension  * 
seem,  unlike  the  material  added  in  the  edition  of  855,  to 
have  been  taken  almost  exclusively  from  Latin  sources,  and 
\  especially  from  Beda's  P'nglish  church  history,  or  rather  the 
chronological  outlines  appended  to  it.  This  circumstance 
particularly  betrays  Aelfred's  direct  influence  upon  the  work. 

Meanwhile  the  great  king  had  begun  his  own  literary 
activity  in  about  the  year  886,  and  this  was  not  without  in- 
fluence upon  the  compilers  who  took  part  in  the  revision  of 
the  annals. 

A  work  whose  loss  cannot  be  sufficiently  deplored  was  a 
first  fruit  of  this  activity.  It  was  Aelfred's  hand-book,  de- 
[  vised  for  him  by  Asser,  in  which  were  entered  all  passages 
that  especially  impressed  him  in  his  reading.  Notes  by  his 
own  hand  on  the  history  of  his  people  and  house  gave  it 
special  value. 

The  list  of  Aelfred's  writings  that  have  reached  our  own 
time  begins,  it  would  seem,  with  his  translation,  or  more 
exactly,  adaptation,  of  the  history  of  the  Spanish  presbyter 
Orosius  [Historicvum  libri  VII).  The  original  was  written 
aFthe "suggestion  of  St.  Augustine,  and  under  the  inspiration 
of  some  of  the  ideas  laid  down  in  the  treatise  on  the  City 
of  God.  About  the  year  418  it  came  from  the  hand  of  a 
sympathetic  and  somewhat  gifted  man,  but  a  man  of  no 
deep  learning  nor  greatness  of  mind.  It  was  only  an  un- 
critical and  hasty  compilation  from  older  authorities;  never- 
theless, it  was  the  first  attempt  at  universal  history,  composed 
at  a  standing-point  free  from  national  limitations,  though 
naturally  within  the  bounds  of  Christian  belief.  Its  com- 
pendious character,  and  its  constant  portrayal  of  the  world's 
history  as  a  history  of  suffering  and  crime,  by  which  Chris- 
tendom was  to  be  freed  from  the  reproach  of  having  caused 
the  decay  of  the  Roman  Empire,  insured  the  great  success 
which  it  enjoyed  in  the  Middle  Ages.  The  entirely  unclas- 
sical  form  of  the  work  impaired  this  success  the  less,  as  the 
subject-matter  was  enlivened  by  feeling,  and  at  times  degked 
with  rhetorical  ornament.     Thus  Orosius  became  the  chief 

'  This  seems  to  have  been  the  last  instituted  in  Winchester  itself.  Her  writers 
were  thereafter  content  to  continue  the  chponicles,  and  to  have  copies  made  of  the 
existing  one.  Such  a  copy  was  made  in,  or  soon  after,  the  year  887  ;  for  Asser,  who 
wrote  in  893  shows  acquaintance  with  the  annals,  in  his  Gesia  Alfred:,  only  to  the 
jrtiT  tij.     >.ec  Appendix  C. 


I 


AELFRED  AS  TRANSLATOR.  7§ 

authority  in  ancient  history  for  those  epochs  which,  for  any 
reason,  were  unable  to  draw  from  purer  springs,  and  he 
maintained  for  centuries  a  standing  at  least  equal  to  that  of 
more  trustworthy  historians,  at  a  time  when  they  had  become 
accessible. 

By  the  translation  of  this  work,  King  Aelfred  gave  his 
countrymen  a  manual  of  history  from  which  they  could 
learn  much,  in  spite  of  its  defects.  But  he  had  tried  the 
powers  of  the  English  language  not  a  little  in  grappling  with 
the  periods  of  a  writer  whose  style  was  often  far  from  lucid 
and  simple. 

This  task  of  moulding  the  English  in  translation  was,  as  a 
whole,  infinitely  harder  than  it  would  be  to-day,  but  in  some 
respects  it  was  not  so  difficult.  Less  developed  than  now, 
the  language  was,  therefore,  less  exacting;  and  if  the  rate 
of  its  movement,  corresponding  to  the  movement  of  the 
thought,  was  slower,  it  could  be  turned  the  more  readily 
into  new  channels.  Chiefly,  however,  the  task  was  made 
less  difficult  by  the  method  of  mediaeval  translators,  who 
did  not  put  themselves  in  the  place  of  their  author  as  we 
require  of  their  successors,  but  put  the  author  in  their  own 
place. 

This  was  true  of  no  translator  more  than  of  Aelfred,  and 
from  various  causes. 

Firstly,  the  naive  and  almost  childlike  point  of  view,  to 
which  the  abstraction  of  surrounding  realities  was  difficult, 
on  account  of  meagre  experience  and  practice  of  com- 
parison. 

Secondly,  Aelfred's  imperfect  knowledge  of  Latin.  As 
we  certainly  know  was  the  case  in  some  of  his  translations, 
so  in  all,  he  doubtless  made  use  of  the  assistance  of  his 
more  learned  friends  in  seeking  to  interpret  his  original. 
He  sought  help  especially  of  Asser ;  but  this  could  not  shield 
him  from  several  strange  misconceptions,  and  often  gave 
him  an  insight  merely  into  the  general  sense  and  not  into 
the  particulars  of  a  difficult  passage. 

A  final  cause  lay  in  the  personal  tastes  and  the  pedagogic 
considerations  of  the  king,  who  wished  atove  ail  to  be 
useful  to  his  people,  and  rightly  measured  its  needs  by  his 
own. 

This  explains  why  Aelfred,  even  when  he  translates  most 


76  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

accurately,  sometimes  "sets  v.-ord  for  word,"  sometimes  only 
"thought  for  thought,"^  but  usually  diverges  much  more 
radically  from  liis  author. 

Aelfred  omits  and  abbreviates  much  in  the  Orosius,  espe- 
cially toward  the  close.  The  seven  books  of  the  original  are 
condensed  to  six,  and  the  account  of  the  last  period,  from 
Augustus  on,  is  little  more  than  briefly  summarised.  He 
also  makes  a  number  of  additions  of  varying  length :  useful 
facts  procured  from  other  sources,  and  remarks  designed  to 
set  the  relations  of  antiquity  more  clearly  before  his  coun- 
trymen, or  flowing  unconsciously  from  his  pen  because  they 
come  from  his  heart. 

We  quote  but  one  of  the  shorter  insertions,  which  also 
found  its  way  into  the  A?inals  of  Winchester.^  Speaking 
of  Titus,  Aelfred  remarks :  "  He  was  of  such  a  right  spirit 
that  he  said  he  considered  that  day  lost  in  which  he  had 
done  no  good  thing."  ^ 

By  far  the  most  important  of  the  longer  additions  are 
those  in  the  geographical  introduction  in  the  first  chapter  kÄ 
the  first  book.  They  consist  of  a  complete  description  of 
all  the  countries  in  which  the  Teutonic  tongue  prevailed  at 
Aelfrcd's  time,  and  a  full  narrative  of  the  travels  of  two 
voyagers,  which  the  king  wrote  down  from  their  own  lips. 
One  of  these,  a  Norwegian  named  Ohthere,  had  quite  cir- 
cumnavigated the  coast  of  Scandinavia  in  his  travels,  and 
had  even  penetrated  to  the  White  Sea;  the  other,  named 
Wulfstan,  had  sailed  from  Slesvig  to  Frioche  Ilaff.  Tl.e 
geographical  and  ethnographical  details  of  both  accounts 
are  exceedingly  interesting,  and  their  style  is  attractive, 
clear,  and  concrete.  It  was  long^  unfortunately,  before 
Aelfred  had  a  successor  in  this  field. 

Aelfred's  English  is  freest  and  most  spontaneous  in  these 
excursions.  But  it  can  nowhere  be  called  either  stiff  or 
unidiomatic,  even  though  it  leaves,  here  and  there,  an  im- 
pression of  childlike  awkwardness.  His  attempt  to  conform 
the  loosely  constructed  English  speech  to  the  close  and 
interwoven  structure  of  the  Latin  yields  many  anacoluthons 
and  pleonasms.      This   applies  especially  to  conjunctions, 

'  Compare  the  prefaces  to  Aelfred's  Gregorius  and  his  Boethius.  Tlie  latter  has 
hwilufn  he  settc  word  be  worde,  Jnuiliini  andgit  0/ a7idgiie.  ,4 

*  See  entry  for  the  year  81,  Earle,  p.  8.  ^V^ 

«  VI.,  8,  ed  Thorpe,  p.  480,  /^ 


TRANSLATION  OF  BEDA's  CHURCH  HISTORY.  77 

and  to  those  cases  in  which,  for  the  sake  of  clearness,  a  noun 
is  made  to  follow,  after  a  short  interval,  the  pronoun  which, 
according  to  strict  logic,  should  represent  it;  a  device,  it  is 
true,  which  later  writers  still  often  employ.^ 

After  the  Orosiiis,  Aelfred  applied  himself  to  the  Hlstoria 
ecdesiasticß,  Anglarum  of  his  great  countryman  Beda,  a  na- 
tional treasure  to  whose  great  worth  he,  perhaps  more  than 
any  other,  was  in  a  position  to  do  justice.  Such  freedom 
of  treatment  as  he  had  bestowed  upon  the  universal  history 
of  the  Spaniard  v/as  not  demanded  in  this  work  of  English 
origin,  and  dealing  with  English  affairs.  Beda's  narrative, 
it  is  true,  would  have  permitted  the  insertion  of  much  new 
matter,  since  Jjis  history  of  the  south  is  much  inferior  in 
thoroughness  and  trustworthiness  to  that  of  the  north,  and 
Aelfred  was  especially  called  and  adapted  to  this  work.  But 
v/hether  the  royal  author  did  not  like  to  repeat  in  another 
place  what  he  had  already  put  down  in  his  hand-book,  or 
whether  some  other  ground  prevailed,  Aellred  observed  an 
abstinence  in  this  respect,  which  posterity  can  only  regret. 
The  deep  interest  felt  by  his  age  and  people  in  the  history  of 
Wessex  and  the  south  generally,  found  but  a  negative  utter- 
ance in  his  rendering.  Among  his  many  abridgments  and 
omissions,  he  discarded  not  only  nearly  all  the  judicial 
measures  given  by  Beda,  but  also  left  untranslated  matter 
regarding  northern  affairs.^ 

Perhaps  Aelfred  was  impelled  to  bring  this  work  to  a  close 
because  a  new  and  more  difficult  task  was  already  beginning 
to  stimulate  him.  If  we  do  not  err,  the  translation  of  Boe-^) 
thius'  De  consolatioue philosopJiiae  should  here  be  mentioned: 
Whatever  the  antiquarian,  the  geographer,  or  the  ethnologist 
may  think  of  this  work,  in  the  history  of  culture  in  its  wider 
sense,  it  holds  the  first  rank  among  Aelfred's  writings. 

In  the  Middle  Ages  we  encounter  traces  of  the  "last  of 
the  Romans,"  at  every  step.  His  CoiisolatioJi  of  Philosophy, 
especially,  is  one  of  those  books  by  which  many  generations 
of  mediaeval  readers  v/ere  both  edified,  and  practised  in 

1  Compare  Orosiiis,  II.,  4  ed.  Thorpe,  p.  306:  he pd  Cinis  ky  pcrr  besyrods,  "he 
then,  Cyrus,  surprised  them  there  "  ;  heo pd  sed  civen  Dameris  ftiiJ  viycelre  gjiornuiige 
ytnb  pees  cy7ii7iges  siege,  Jiyre  siina,  deuce  tide  wees,  "she  then.  Queen  Tomyris,  was 
thinking,  with  much  grief,  of  the  death  of  the  king,  her  son." 

2  Attention  has  already  been  called  to  the  error  which  passed  from  Aelfred's  Beda 
(I.,  9,)  into  the  Annals  of  Winchester  (see  the  year  381).  The  con-.piler  connected 
the  statement  of  the  Latin  chronological  epitome  with  that  of  the  English  text  of  th? 
^cclesiasiical  Histo>y. 


7S  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

philosophical  thinking,  and  by  which  the  mediaeval  languages 
were  educated  to  the  expression  of  abstract  thought.  The 
work  was  not  unworthy  of  such  a  distinguished  lot.  It 
gleams  with  a  last  ray  of  classical  antiquity :  in  its  con- 
tents, in  which  the  purest  ethical  doctrines  of  the  ancient 
schools  of  philosophy  —  notably  of  the  Neo-platonists  and 
Stoics — are  united  with  the  spirit  of  Roman  manliness;  in 
its  form,  especially  the  poetical  parts,  which  agreeably  inter- 
rupt the  analytical  and  argumentative  prose.  And  to  that 
last  glimmer  of  vanishing  light  is  wedded  the  glowi^ng  dawn 
of  a  new  day,  of  Christianity;  whose  spirit,  though  nowhere 
directly  confessed,  yet  permeates  the  whole,  and  distinctly 
embodies  the  ideas  of  divine  providence  and  lov^.  Add  to 
this  the  advantage  of  a  noble  yet  popular  presentation  in  the 
form  of  a  dialogue,  and  the  charm  of  the  scene  which  shov»s 
us  the  senator  Boethius  in  his  dungeon,  where,  as  her  disci- 
ple, he  is  solaced  by  philosophy. 

^V^e  can  imagine  with  what  feelings,  in  the  evening  of  his 
eventful  life,  the  manly  heart  of  the  great  Saxon  king  ab- 
sorbed those  noble  teachings  of  antiquity  on  the  worthless- 
ness  of  earthly  happiness,  on  the  supreme  good,  on  the  wise 
man's  duty  of  composure  in  the  struggle  of  life;  and  how 
he  felt  impelled  to  reveal  this  treasure  to  his  people. 

The  task  was  not  easy.  With  particular  reference  to  this 
work,  William  of  Malmesbury  informs  us  that  Aelfred  had 
Asser  explain  the  original,  and  then  wrote  dov,-n  the  substance 
of  it  in  English.  This  translation  is  most  ri_markable.  We 
see  how  the  king  labours  with  the  thoughts  of  his  author  and 
with  his  own  language.  Misconceptions  are  not  excluded, 
and  he  could  never  have  finished  the  whole,  had  he  not 
likewise  here  permitted  himself  the  greatest  freedom  of 
treatment. 

But  though  the  English  Boethius  lacks  original  insertions 
of  such  evident  moment  as  those  in  the  first  chapter  of  the 
Orosiiis,  yet  the  rendering  as  a  vv'hole  is  perhaps  more  origi- 
nal than  that  translation.  At  the  very  beginning  Aelfred 
contracts  and  transposes  the  order.  He  omits  entire  sec- 
tions. Whenever  opportunity  offers,  he  gives  the  thought 
of  the  Roman  a  more  decidedly  Christian  colouring.  He 
oftentimes  replaces  antique  allusions,  whose  meaning  he  does 
pot  always  understand,  by  allusions  to  persons  and  things  well 


THE  BOETHIUS.  79 

known  to  every  Englishman.  Fabricius,  whose  name  re- 
minds him  oi  fade?;  becomes  the  smith  Weland.  The  clas- 
sica  saeva,  the  savage  war-trumpets,  which  did  not  resound 
in  the  golden  age,  are  transformed  into  a  sciphere,  a  thing 
which  had  not  yet  been  heard  of  in  that  age  of  innocence,^ 
nor  in  England  before  787.  Oftentimes — and  this  is  most 
important — he  gives  himself  up  to  the  flood  of  thoughts  \ 
which  a  word  of  Boethius  has  inspired,  and  writes  from  his 
own  experience  and  his  own  heart. 

That  the  Roman  philosopher  suffers  in  this  treatment  is 
undeniable.  Many  a  nice  shade  of  thought,  to  say  nothing 
of  language,  is  effaced  by  Aelfred,  and  the  king's  learning 
was  not  rich  and  ripe  enough  to  replace  this  loss  by  some- 
thing of  equal  value.  But  the  translator  possessed,  in  a 
high  degree,  that  delicacy  and  elevation  of  m^ind  which  pro-  ] 
ceeds  from  a  noble  spirit;  and  when  he  lets  us  view  the 
recesses  of  his  kingly  heart,  he  vouchsafes  to  us  a  most 
touching  and  beautiful  spectacle.  A  passage  may  be  cited 
here  which  Aelfred's  recent  biographer  has  justly  made  prom- 
inent : 

For  that  I  wished  material  to  exercise  my  power  upon  it,  that  my 
talents  and  my  power  become  not  forgotten  and  concealed.  For  every 
craft  and  every  power  soon  becomes  old  and  passes  to  oblivion,  if  it  is 
without  wisdom;  for  no  man  may  accomplish  any  craft  without  wis- 
dom. For  what  is  done  through  folly  no  one  can  ever  reckon  for 
craft.  This  I  can  now  especially  say:  that  I  have  longed  to  live 
worthily,  so  long  as  I  lived,  and  after  my  life,  to  leave  my  memory  in 
good  works  to  the  men  who  were  after  me.* 

Boethius  required  in  the  translator  a  poet  as  well  as  a 
prose  writer.  Aelfred  first  translated  the  Metra  into  prose, 
a  prose  not  without  the  charms  of  fresh  naivete,  warmth, 
and  exalted  feeling. 

Both  extant  manuscripts  of  the  Old  English  BoetJiius  open 
with  a  preface — hardly  from  Aelfred's  pen — in  which  we  are 
told  that  the  king  afterwards  recast  this  prose  into  verse. 
And  one  of  them  actually  contains  the  Metra  reproduced  in 
alliterative  verse;  this  is  the  older  manuscript,  belonging  to 
the  tenth  century,  while  the  younger  one  presents  the  whole 
version  in  prose.  Under  these  circumstances,  only  very 
weighty  reasons  could  justify  us  in  denying  to  Aelfred  the 

'  Boet.,  II.,  Metr.  5 ;  Aelfred,  c.  15,  ed.  Samuel  Fox,  p.  48.     Sciphere  is  the  standir.g 
expression  in  the  annals  for  a  Danish  marauding  or  war  fleet. 
•  Aelfred's  Boethius,  c.  17,  cd.  S.  Fox,  p.  60, 


8o  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

credit  of  the  poetical  rendering  of  the  Metra.  The  argu- 
ments upon  which  such  an  opinion  has  hitherto  been  based 
seem  to  proceed  more  from  a  leaning  toward  skepticism 
than  from  the  critical  spirit.  If  the  poetical  version  rests 
upon,  and  makes  use  of  the  same  words  as  the  prose  trans- 
lation (so  far  as  rhythm  and  alliteration  permit),  this  is  pre- 
cisely what  we  might  have  expected.  The  misconceptions 
in  the  English  prose,  however,  that  have  been  charged  to 
the  poet,  are  explained,  on  closer  examination,  in  a  way 
that  places  him  in  a  more  favourable  light  than  the  prose 
writer.  This  result  could  hardly  be  anticipated,  when  we 
consider  that  Aelfred  most  probab]y*put  into  verse,  unaided, 
a  part  of  the  translation  made  with  Asser's  help. 

After  the  foregoing,  great  poetical  worth  Avill  not  be  look- 
ed for  in  the  rhythmical  version  of  Boethius'  Mdra.  The 
prose  version  not  rarely  stirs  the  feelings  and  imagination 
more  strongly  than  the  metrical.  Yet  the  latter  does  not 
utterly  lack  warmth  and  life,  nor  even  a  certain  loftiness  of 
strain;  but  while  we  do  not  deny  these  qualities  to  Aelfred's 
verse,  we  really  take  them  in  a  quite  difierent  sense  from 
that  applied  to  the  poetry  of  the  previous  age.  One  who 
passes  from  Cynewulf  to  Aelfred  cannot  evade  a  feeling  of 
complete  disenchantment.  Aelfred  entirely  lacked  the  crea- 
*^  live  poetic  fancy,  and  the  innate  charm  of  the  verses  of  Boe- 
thius is  so  fundamentally  different  from  that  of  Old  English 
poetry,  that  even  the  most  gifted  in  England  would  have 
failed  to  make  Boethius  speak  in  the  national  sty) :.  The 
laws  of  alliteration  are  somewhat  deranged  in  Aelfred's  long 
lines;  but  perhaps  less  so  than  one  might  naturally  expect. 
The  diction  is  much  farther  removed  from  the  ancient  epos 
than  the  verse. 

If  it  was  an  inner  need  that  moved  the  king  to  translate 
the  Consolatio  philosop/iiae,  it  was  chiefly  a  regard  for  tlie 
wants  of  his  people  that  impelled  him  to  his  next,  and  so  b'r 
as  we  know,  his  last  literary  work.  From  philosophy  Ael- 
fred turned  to  practical  theology,*  v.hen  he  undertook  tc 
\  translate  the  Regula  Pastoralis  of  the  great  Gregory. 

The  pope  who  had  begun  the  conversion  of  England  \.<h 
Christianity,  had,  as  we  saw,  exerted  a  decisive  influence,  by 
liis  writings,  upon  the  theology  as  well  as  the  poetry  of  that 
country.     His  work  on  Pastoral  Care  presents,  in  four  sec- 


THE  PASTORAL  CARE.  Si 

tions,  the  Ideal  of  a  Christian  pastor ;  and  in  showing  how 
he  should  attain  to  his  office,  how  he  should  live  and  teach, 
and  finally,  how  he  is  to  preserve  humility  by  self-examina- 
tion, it  offered,  though  in  a  form  of  no  marked  elegance,  a 
treasure  of  excellent  teachings,  from  which  the  mediaeval 
church  long  drew.  Augustine,  as  Gregory's  missionary,  had 
brought  this  work  with  him  to  England.  There  Vv'as  now 
most  urgent  need  that  these  teachings  of  Gregory  should  be 
again  inculcated  in  the  English  clergy.  Hence  Aelfred  took 
great  pains  to  circula.te  his  translation  as  widely  as  possible; 
he  had  a  copy  of  it  presented  to  every  bishop  of  his  realm. 

The  translation  was  more  carefully  prepared  than  any  of 
Aelfred's  previous  versions.  Of  all  his  translations,  this  fol- 
lov/s  the  text  most  faithfully;  and  though  it  often  takes  the 
nature  of  paraphrase,  yet  there  are  no  deviations  that  could 
stamp  the  work  as  a  free  imitation.  Aelfred's  style  here  is 
not  at  its  best,  because  it  is  less  characteristic.  The  histo- 
rian of  literature  will  be  perhaps  least  interested  in  this  vv^ork, 
however  important  it  may  be  to  the  philologist,  for  whom 
its  value  is  enhanced  by  the  purity  of  its  text. 

The  high  estimation  in  which  Aelfred  himself  held  the 
work  appears  in  the  long  preface  that  he  prefixed  to  it.  This 
preface  is  in  the  form  of  a  letter  to  each  of  his  bishops.  He 
speaks  longingly  of  the  old  and  happy  times  when  the  Eng- 
lish kings  obeyed  God  and  his  messengers,  and  prospered  in 
knowledge  as  well  as  war ;  when  the  clergy  had  zeal  both 
to  teach  and  to  learn,  and  for  all  that  belongs  to  God's  ser- 
vice; and  when  foreigners  sought  wisdom  and  learning 
in  England.  To  this  he  contrasts  the  present,  when  the 
Angles  must  get  knowledge  abroad,  if  they  would  have  it  at 
all.  But  he  thanks  God  that  his  kingdom  is  better  off  as 
regards  education  than  it  was  a  fev/  years  before.  Then 
there  were  very  few  this  side  of  the  H umber  who  could  un- 
derstand their  rituals,  or  could  even  translate  a  letter  from 
Latin  into  English,  and  there  were  probably  not  many  be- 
yond the  Humber.  "So  few  were  there,"  he  says,  "  that  I 
cannot  remember  a  single  one  south  of  the  Thames,  when 
I  came  to  the  throne."  He  urgently  exhorts  his  bishops  to 
break  away  from  worldly  affairs  as  often  as  possible,  in  order 
to  fortify  the  knowledge  which  God  has  given  them.  Then 
follow  the  considerations  which  led  him  to  his  undertaking. 


82  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

Bishop  Werferth  was  induced  by  Aelfred  to  translate 
another  and  more  popular  work  by  Gregory,  his  Dialogues. 
In  a  talk  with  his  friend,  Deacon  Peter,  the  pope  gives  first 
an  account  of  the  life  and  miracles  of  Italian  saints;  the 
entire  second  book  is  justly  devoted  to  one  of  these,  St. 
Benedict  of  Nursia.  It  further  treats  (in  the  fourth  book) 
of  the  life  of  the  soul  after  death,  as  it  was  revealed  in  a 
series  of  visions  transmitted  to  the  author  either  orally  or  in 
writing.  The  dialogue  as  such  is  nowhere  very  lifelike, 
and  the  farther  the  work  proceeds,  the  more  it  becomes 
a  mere  pretext.  Notwithstanding  this  defect,  Gregory's 
Dialogues  had  a  m.ost  enduring  influence  on  the  mediae- 
val mind  and  poetry,  and  more  particularly  the  last  book, 
which  has  a  peculiar  interest  for  the  theologian  on  account 
of  the  doctrine  of  purgatory  developed  in  it.  Owing  to  this 
influence,  if  for  no  other  reason,  we  must  desire  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  Old  English  version  of  the  work,  which 
has  thus  far  slumbered  in  manuscript,  but  which,  we  may 
noAv  hope,  will  soon  be  published. 

Five  of  the  last  ten  years  of  Aelfred's  reign  (893-897) 
vrere  filled  with  the  renewed  tumult  of  war.  The  situation 
of  the  West-Saxon  kingdom  again  became  most  perilous  in 
the  struggle  with  the  Scandinavian  pirates,  who  found  will- 
ing confederates  in  the  English  Danes.  But  this  time  also 
the  danger  passed.  The  defensive  resources  of  the  kingdom  - 
on  land,  and  still  more  on  the  sea,  had  been  fostered  by  the 
king  during  the  years  of  peace.  The  defenders  brilliantly 
proved  their  might  under  their  heroic  leader,  and  at  last 
drove  the  enemy  back  to  his  old  bounds. 

The  increased  consciousness  of  power  which  pervaded 
the  English  people,  issuing  victorious  from  this  struggle,  is 
strikingly  indicated  by  the  exalted  strain  in  which  the  Eng- 
lish annals  describe  the  occurrences  of  this  period.  The 
entries  for  the  years  894—897,  written  beyond  question 
by  the  same  author,  narrate  these  warlike  events  in  lucid 
sequence,  and  in  a  briskly  animated,  vigorous,  and  some- 
what martial  style ;  and  in  them  the  subjectivity  of  the  his- 
torian finds  utterance  for  the  first  time.  The  personality 
that  confronts  us  is  one  of  strong  and  great  qualities.  The 
writer  has  little  to  report  concerning  times  of  peace.  The  last 
years  of  Aelfred's  reign  are  hardly  noticed  in  his  annals. 


THE  LATER  GENESIS.  S^ 

The  king's  death  draws  from  him  the  following  short 
notice : 

901.  This  year  died  Aelfred  Atliulfing  six  niglats  before  AIl-Hal- 
low-mass.  He  was  king  over  all  the  Angle-folk,  save  the  portion  un- 
der the  rule  of  the  Danes.  And  he  held  the  kingdom  thirty  years, 
less  a  half  year.  And  King  Eadweard,  his  son,  came  to  the 
throne.  ' 

In  the  beginning  of  the  new  reign,  the  operations  of 
Aetheling  Aethelwald  alone  give  him  occasion  for  a  full  and 
stirring  narrative.  But  with  the  year  910,  his  account  be- 
gins, in  unison  with  the  growing  military  interest,  to  regain 
a  uniformly  broad  and  graphic  vigour,  and  to  illustrate  again 
the  peculiar  manner  of  this  writer,  which  is  maintained  to 
the  year  924.  This  year  saw  Eadweard  reach  the  summit 
of  his  power;  it  saw  him  who  had  extended  the  kingdom 
to  the  Humber,  chosen  "  lord  and  father,"  i.  e.,  overlord,  by 
the  Angles  and  Danes  of  Northumbria,  by  the  Britons  of 
Strathclyde,  and  even  by  the  Scots.  With  it  the  chronicler 
comes  to  a  close.  The  age  to  which  he  belonged  deserves 
to  live  on  in  the  record  of  a  man  whom,  from  the  few  pages 
that  he  handed  down,  we  may  prize  as  one  of  the  first,  per- 
haps the  greatest,  of  the  prose  writers  of  Old  England. 

VIII.  y. 

What  Aelfred  had  said  of  learning :  that  formerly  foreign- 
ers had  sought  it  among  the  Angles,  and  now  the  Angles 
must  get  it  in  foreign  lands,  was,  in  a  certain  sense,  also  true 
of  religious  poetry.  The  most  notable  English  poem  of  this 
class  from  the  ninth  century  has  unfortunately  reached  us  in 
fragments;  this  work  (which  we  will  call  the  later  Genesis) 
is  so  exceptional  among  the  English  national  poems,  in  lan- 
guage, style,  and  verse,  and,  as  recent  researches  teach,  is  so 
intimately  related  to  continental  Saxon  art,  that  it  seems  like 
a  foreign  growth  acclimated  in  England.  But  whether  it  be  a 
translation  and  revision  of  an  old  Saxon  poem,  as  has  been 
claimed,  or  whether,  as  seems  to  me  more  probable,  we  have 
here  the  work  of  an  Old  Saxon,  resident  in  England,^  the  spirit 

^  Earl,  p.  96. — ^Athulfing  means  son  of  Athulf,  an  abbreviation  of  Aethelvvulf. 

2  I  know  of  no  reason,  for  instance,  why  we  should  not  here  have  in  mind  that  John 
to  whom  Aelfred  entrusted  the  monastery  at  Aethelney,  and  who  perhaps  came  over 
from  Corvey.  The  Gejiesis  might  easily  have  been  written  in  the  last  quarter  of  th? 
ninth  century.  The  theory  of  a  translation  seems  to  n.e  the  iiiGre  improbable  one, 
because  an  Englishman  who  failed  to  change  ix'.ccr  (war)  into  s65  would  doubtless 
ba-.e  overlooke4  more  Gerraauisms  than  can  be  fuund  iu  the  poem ;  but  sse  Appendix  A. 


84  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

that  lives  in  this  Genesis  is  in  either  case  the  same  as  that 
which  fills  the  German  IIeiia?id,  and  has  flowed  firom  it. 
Northern  German}',  where  that  venerable  poem  had  sprung 
as  a  splendid  blossom  from  the  germs  of  English  learning 
and  power  of  expression  scattered  by  Enghsh  missionaries, 
gave  back  in  the  Genesis  a  part  of  what  it  had  received  from 
the  great  sister  nation  upon  the  British  island.^ 

The  complete  poem  certainly  included  the  creation,  espe- 
cially that  of  man,  as  well  as  the  fall.  What  may  have  fol- 
lowed this,  cannot  be  known.  The  poet's  chief  source  was 
the  De  spiritalis  historiae  gesiis^  libri  V.  which  were  com- 
posed in  Latin  hexameters  by  Bishop  Avitus,  of  Vienne, 
in  about  the  last  decade  of  the  fifth  century ;  and  we  may 
note  that  the  five  books  have  the  following  heads  :  De 
origine  mündig  De  originali  peccato,  De  senieniia  dei,  De  diluvio 
mundi,  De  transitu  maris  ricbri.  But  it  should  not  be  over- 
looked that  in  that  part  of  our  Ge?iesis  corresponding  to  the 
second  of  these  books,  use  has  also  been  made  of  the  third. 

The  author  of  the  later  Genesis  owes  to  Avitus,  who  was 
one  of  the  greatest  Middle  Latin  religious  poets,  that  more 
artistic  arrangement  by  which  the  narrative  of  the  fall  of 
the  angels,  contrary  to  the  usual  order,  is  inserted  as  an  epi- 
sode between  the  creation  and  the  fall  of  the  first  pair.  To 
him  he  is  indebted  for  several  important  motives,  expressive 
traits  of  characterisation,  and  eftective  passages.  In  tlie 
main,  however,  he  is  very  free  in  the  use  of  his  text;  and 
his  work  does  not  lack  original  features,  vfhich,  for  the  pres- 
ent, may  be  regarded  as  products  of  his  own  individuality. 

The  poet  was  a  broadly  humane  man,  of  profound  and 
noble  qualities.  He  recasts  his  characters  with  warm  sym- 
pathy, and  when  possible,  endows  them  with  his  own  gen- 
erous spirit.  He  takes  pains  to  represent  the  sin  of  the  first 
pair  as  arising  from  no  ignoble  motives,  but  as  the  result  of 
an  error,  and  this  he  does  with  true  tragic  power.  Even 
his  Satan  is  not  without  dignity  and  greatness.  Some  of 
that  quenchless  power  dwells  in  him  which  filled  Widukind, 
the  great  antagonist  of  Charlemagne,  or  perhaps  some  Eng- 
lish aetheling,  who  rebelled  against  a  royal  father  or  brother  \ 
thus  the  idea  of  the  comitatus  is  taken  up  and  vividly  pre- 

'  That,  on  the  other  hand,  Engli/,h  wriiings  still  dinted  to  the  continent,  in  anH  rffr 
Aeiired's  time,  is  proved  by  the  discovery  in  Cassel  of  a  leaf  from  a  ni;ir.aöchyt  of 
AuJTred's  R':gula pasioraUs,  which  is  said  to  date  from  the  niath  century. 


THE  LATER  GENESIS.  85 

sented.  Criticism  has  long  discerned  a  true  Miltonic  ring 
in  the  speeches  put  into  the  mouth  of  Satan ;  as  in  the  fol- 
lowing, which  precedes  his  fall : 

Why  shall  I  toil?  said  he,  surely  need  is  none 

To  have  him  for  my  head !     With  my  hands  I  can 

As  many  wonders  work ;  I  have  power  wide 

To  make  a  mightier  throne,  to  build  for  me 

A  higher  one  in  heaven.     Why  shall  I  do  his  hest 

And  for  his  favour  sue,  bend  to  him  in  such  fealty  ? 

A  god  like  him,  as  great,  may  I  become. 

Strong  comrades  stand  by  me,  who  in  the  strife, 

Heroes  stern -hearted,  will  not  fail  their  help; 

Me  have  they  chosen  for  chief,  unchallenged  warriors  ! 

Such  may  one  call  to  counsel,  with  such  may  capture 

His  followers  ;  they  are  my  fervent  friends. 

In  their  thoughts  faithful ;  of  them  I  may  be  chieftain, 

Reign  in  this  realm.     It  seemeth  me  not  right 

That  I  in  aught,  for  anything. 

For  any  good,  to  God  need  cringe. 

I  will  no  longer  live  his  vassal  !  ' 

Profoundness  of  psychological  insight  is  a  chief  character- 
istic of  this  poet,  and  though  he  is  too  fond  of  the  forms  of 
variation,^  his  copious,  somewhat  verbose  style,  while  not 
sentimental,  is  much  more  sympathetic  and  tender  than 
Caedmon's.  As  regards  versification,  the  poet  is  partial  to 
the  long-drawn  lines  designated  on  page  47  as  "  lengthened" 
verses;  in  this  he  exactly  resembles  the  author  of  the 
Helia7id^  and  he  has  often  very  happily  adapted  from  him  a 
number  of  formal  terms  and  phrases,  though  occasionally 
without  regarding  differences  of  dialect,  or  the  demands  of 
alliteration. 

This  later  Genesis  is  only  in  so  far  preserved  as  it  was 
used  in  the  tenth  century  to  fill  a  gap  in  the  elder,  we  will 
say,  Caedmonic  GeJiesis? 

The  English  poetry  of  this  period  was  also  influenced  by 
Scandinavian  art.     The  poem  called  Rhyme-sofig  contrasts 
in  eighty-seven  verses,  a  past  full  of  wealth,  power,  and  hap- 
piness, with  a  mournful  present,  and  this  in  a  manner  some- 

1  Genesis,  v.  27S-291.     Bibliothek  der  ags.  Poesie,  I.  9. 

2  This  peculiarity  seems  to  have  been  augmented  by  later  interpolations,  v.'hich 
brought  an  element  very  much  like  confusion  into  the  text. 

*  This  gap  chiefly  comprised  God's  prohibition  to  the  first  pair  and  the  fall.  More- 
over, the  sheet  containing  the  be.ginning  of  the  interpolation  fails  in  the  extant  man- 
uscript of  the  so-called  Caedmonic  poetry.  Hence  we  have  but  617  lines  of  the 
later  Genesis  poetry  {Gen-.  235-S51). 


S6  BEFORE  THE  Ct  NQUE5T. 

times  vividly  suggesting  Job.^  Besides  alliteration,  the 
method  of  rhyming  words  at  the  caesura  witli  tlie  end  of  the 
line  is  here  consistently  employed,  a  device  seldom  encoun- 
tered in  the  older  English  poetry.  Attention  has  justly 
been  called  to  the  fact  that  this  is  exactly  the  form  which 
was  known  in  Scandinavia  by  the  term  of  Runhenda,  and 
critics  have  conjectured  that  the  Rhyme-song  was  the  result 
of  an  influence  proceeding  from  an  Old  Norse  poet  of  the 
tenth  century,  from  Egil  Skalagrimsson,  who  visited  England 
twice,  enjoyed  a  certain  celebrity  at  Aethelstan's  court,  and 
composed  a  poem  in  this  form  in  Northumbria.  This  seems 
to  have  yielded  no  immediate  results.  Rhyme  reappeared 
in  later  popular  poe  is,  often  in  the  place  of  alliteration,  and 
always  in  close  conj  .motion  with  its  decay,  but  rhyme  is  not 
to  be  referred  to  this  source. 

The  early  native  tradition  of  ecclesiastical  poetry  had  not 
yet  died  out ;  but  the  works  it  inspired  bear  distinct  tokens 
of  artistic  decline. 

A  poem  which  we  may  fitly  name  The  Fallen  Angels'^ — 
its  subject  is  the  torments  and  despair  of  heavenly  spirits 
changed  to  devils — shows  us  two  characteristics  of  the  Old 
English  poetical  style  carried  to  excess.  And  first  the  form 
of  variation  applied  to  larger  proportions :  the  poet  con- 
stantly makes  the  fallen  spirits,  especially  their  chief,  break 
forth  in  lamentations,  and  dwell  upon  the  bliss  of  heaven 
which  they  have  lost,  the  terror  and  misery  for  which  they 
have  bartered  it,  God's  might  and  goodness,  and  their  own 
folly.  At  the  same  time  he  introduces  his  admonitions  in 
the  manner  of  the  homilist,  and  at  the  close  he  again  con- 
trasts the  pictures  of  hell  and  of  heaven,  where  the  angels 
revel  in  the  jubilee  of  bliss,  and  whither  all  men  will  go  who 
take  care  to  obey  the  Saviour.  In  closest  union  with  this 
form  of  variation,  and  not  less  sustained,  there  is  an  elegiac 
passion  whose  tenderness  had  never  yet  been  equalled. 
Stirred  by  the  rage  of  his  pain  and  longing,  Satan  falls  quite 
out  of  character  and  speaks  like  a  weak,  repentant  sinner, 
at  times  even  like  a  preacher.  It  would  hardly  have 
occurred  to  the  poet  of  another  age  to  make  the  devil  run 
on  in  such  rhapsodies  as  these : 

*  See  especially  c.  20  and  30  of  the  biblical  book. 
^  Satan,  v.  1-365,  Bibliothek,  d^r  ags.  Poesie,  I.  123. 


FRAGMENTS  OF  RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  87 

O,  thou  glory  of  the  Lord  t    Guardian  of  heaven's  hosts  ! 

O,  thou  might  of  the  Creator !     O,  thou  mid-circle  ! 

O,  thou  bright  day  of  splendour !     O,  thou  jubilee  of  God! 

O,  ye  hosts  of  angels  !     O,  thou  highest  heaven  ! 

O,  that  I  am  shut  from  the  everlasting  jubilee! 

That  I  cannot  reach  my  hands  again  up  to  heaven, 

Nor  still  look,  as  before,  with  my  eyes  upward, 

Nor  hear,  with  my  ears  ever  again 

The  clear-ringing  strains  of  the  heavenly  trumpets  !  ' 

The  poet  lacks  neither  thought  nor  power  of  expression ; 
yet  he  was  not  able,  or  did  not  try,  to  join  his  thoughts  in 
continuous  movement.  At  the  end  the  reader  finds  himself 
where  he  began.  The  energy  with  which  certain  theological 
views  are  held  and  developed  is  also  noteworthy ;  and  the 
poem  mirrors  a  fairly  defined  conception  of  hell,  as  well  as 
the  life  and  deeds  of  the  devil.  Christ  the  Son  of  God 
appears  always  as  the  Creator;  the  attack  led  by  the  fallen 
angels  concerns  him,  and  they  are  conquered  by  him.  Satan, 
too,  has  a  son,  whom  he  wishes  to  elevate  to  the  place  of 
Christ.2 

Fragments  only  are  preserved  of  a  poem^  which,  in  both 
contents  and  scope,  has  been  compared  with  Cynewulf's 
Christ.  The  chief  theme  of  the  portion  extant  is  Christ's 
descent  and  resurrection,  to  which  is  joined,  rather  briefly, 
an  account  of  the  ascension  and  last  judgment.  It  begins 
with  an  episode  discussing  the  former  state  of  the  devils,  who 
are  stricken  with  terror  at  the  coming  of  Christ.  Whether 
the  descent  took  such  great  prominence  in  the  complete 
poem  as  it  receives  in  the  fragment,  cannot  be  decided. 
Possibly  this  was  shared  by  the  passion;  possibly  the  poet 
had  treated  the  weightier  points"  of  the  Credo  relating  to 
Christ.  In  the  latter  case  his  poem  was,  as  a  whole,  similar 
to  the  Christ  of  Cynewulf,  though  it  adapted  itself  more 
closely  to  the  popular  Christian  conceptions.  The  remem- 
brance of  Cynewulf  causes  us  to  feel  still  more  strongly  that 
the  execution  of  the  plan  is  comparatively  weak,  though  the 
poem  is  far  from  wanting  in  happy  turns  of  thought.     The 

'  Satan,  v.  164-172,  Bibliothek  der  ags.  Poesie,  I.  133-4. 

'  Compare  v.  63-4 :  Segdest  us  to  s66e,  J)aet  ]pin  sunn  wsere — meotod  monoyiuies : 
hafastu  nu  märe  süsel. 

3  Satan,  v.  366-664,  Bibliothek  der  ags.  Poesie,  I.  139. 

*  It  is,  however,  quite  possible  that  this  fragment  is  a  homily  for  Easter  Suuday,  be- 
reft only  of  its  beginning,  and  with  contents  similar  to  the  pi-ose  homily  in  the  BUck' 
ling  Hoiu:U:s  (Ed.  IMorris,  p.  83,  et  seq.). 


88  BEx^ORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

diction,  too,  has  lost  fulness  and  power,  if  not  copiousness. 
It  reveals,  however,  the  peculiarities  of  the  ancient  poetical 
style. 

Another  and  much  shorter  fragment^  discloses  Christ 
tempted  by  Satan.  The  portrayal  of  the  temptation  is  char- 
acteristic, though  it  deviates  from  the  biblical  account,  more, 
perhaps,  in  expression  than  meaning.  After  it  is  past,  Christ 
sends  the  devil  into  hell  to  measure  it,  so  that  he  may  better 
appreciate  that  he  has  opposed  God.  Satan  executes  this 
commission,  and  finds  that  the  distance  from  the  bottom  of 
hell  to  its  crates  is  a  hundred  thousand  leasrues.  It  is  uncer- 
tain  whether  this  fragment,  also,  is  only  a  poetical  homily  on 
the  temptation  of  Christ,  or  whether  it  belongs  to  a  greater 
whole. 

These  three  poems  probably  appeared  about  the  end  of 
the  ninth,  or  the  beginning  of  the  following  century.  The 
two  last-named  v/orks,  as  we  have  them,  may  have  been 
mutilated  not  long  after  this.  They  were  then  appended  as 
a  connected  whole  to  the  Fallen  Angels^  in  the  existing  man- 
uscript, containing  the  Genesis^  Exodus^  and  Daniel. 

At  about  the  time  to  which  these  products  of  the  religious 
muse  belong,  gnomic  verses  were  produced  in  the  form  of 
dialogues.  Oral  contests  in  speaking  aphorisms  or  riddles, 
or  in  vaunting,  seem  to  be  founded  on  an  ancient  and  deep- 
rooted  Germanic  custom.  In  the  Old  Norse  Wafthru^- 
nisuidl,  Odhin,  with  the  name  Gangradr,  visits  WafthruÖnir, 
the  wisest  and  strongest  of  all  the  giants,  and  both  measure 
their  wisdom  in  a  contest  whose  prize  is  the  life  of  the  loser. 
But  in  England  the  gnomic  dialogue,  as  far  as  preserved,  is 
connected  with  an  oriental  legend,  at  least  with  a  legend  de- 
veloped within  the  range  of  Judaism.  This  legend  contrasts 
King  Salomon  with  INIarcolis,  the  Mercury,  or  Hermes,  of 
classical  antiquity,  as  the  representative  of  Jewish  wisdom, 
against  the  wisdom  and  eloquence  of  the  heathen.  In  the 
place  of  Marcolis,^  however,  we  find  Saturnus.  This  change 
is  perhaps  best  explained  by  a  confusion  of  Marcolis  with 
Malcol  (Milcol,  Milcom) ;  that  is,  ^Moloch,  the  oriental  Sat- 
urn.    Two  incomplete  poetical  dialogues  between  Salomon 

'  Satan,  v.  665-773,  Bibliothek  der  ags.  Poesie,  I.  147. 

'  As  a  rule,  tlie  nan:e  Marcolis,  among  the  Teutonic  races,  was  exchanged  for  the 
seemingly  more  idiomatic  forms  of  JSIarculf  ox  Marcolf;  thence  in  Middle  High  Ger- 
IQan  Morolf, 


SALOMON  AND  SATURNUS.  89 

and  Satumus  have  come  down  to  us.  Their  contents  are 
Christian  throughout,  though  blended  with  both  Rabbin- 
ical and  Germanic  elements. 

In  the  first/  Saturnus,  the  Chaldean  eorl,  who  has  studied 
the  books  of  all  the  islands,  and  mastered  the  learning  of 
Libya,  as  well  as  the  history  of  India,  comes  to  Salomon  for 
instruction  on  the  power  and  dignity  of  the  Paternoster. 
Salomon  imparts  this  in  an  obscure,  mysterious  manner,  and 
represents  a  contest  in  which  the  devil  is  overcome  by  the 
different  letters  of  the  Paternoster,  both  conceived  as  runes 
and  personified.  Then  are  depicted  the  practices  of  the  evil 
spirits,  who  do  not  conceal  their  relationship  with  the  Teu- 
tonic elves.  At  the  end,  Saturnus  finds,  to  his  satisfaction, 
that  Salomon  surpasses  him  in  wisdom. 

The  second,^  and  perhaps  somewhat  older,  dialogue  opens 
with  an  introduction  m  epic  style,  in  which  Marculf's  home 
is  mentioned  among  the  many  lands  which  Saturnus  has  trav- 
ersed. Question  and  answer,  statement  and  counter-state- 
ment follow  each  other  rapidly  in  the  dialogue,  one  question 
being  sometimes  answered  by  another.  In  a  tone  which 
often  becomes  mystical,  it  treats  the  most  diverse  subjects, 
as  death,  old  age,  the  unequal  distribution  of  gifts  and  goods, 
fate,  the  fall  of  the  angels,  and  the  struggle  of  the  good  and 
of  the  evil  principles  for  the  conquest  of  man. 

These  dialogues,  and,  in  a  still  greater  degree,  the  relig- 
ious poems  usually  collected  under  the  name  of  Satan^  ap- 
proach more  nearly  the  style  and  tone  proper  to  the  poetry 
of  the  preceding  age,  than  does  the  English  version  of 
Boethius's  Metra.  In  the  latter,  a  new  element,  related  to 
prose,  asserts  itself.  But  it  is  chiefly  in  the  treatment  of  al- 
literative verse  that  the  Metra  differ  from  the  poems  just 
considered.  If  in  Salomon  and  Saturnus  and  in  Satan.,  the 
number  and  position  of  the  alliterative  letters  do  not  always 
agree  with  the  ancient  rule,  yet  the  relative  emphasis  of  the 
syllables  in  alliteration  is  regarded  with  hardly  an  exception. 
But  in  Boethius  many  liberties  are  taken  in  this  respect. 
Such  deviations  had  often  appeared  singly,  but  accumulated, 
they  betoken  the  decline  of  the  old  metrical  art. 

This  decline  is  still  more  significantly  shown  in  the  psalm 

*  Kemble,  Salomon  and  Saturjius,  p.  134-154,  Bibliothek  der  ags.  Poesie,  II.  35^- 

359- 
*Kemble,  p.  154-176,  Bibliothek  der  ags.  Poesie,  II.  360-368. 


90  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

translation  (see  p.  48  )  which  appeared  in  this  period,  though 
hardly  after  the  middle  of  the  tenth  century.^  The  chief 
rules  of  ancient  alliteration  are  violated  with  indifference, 
and  the  diction  entirely  lacks  swing  and  copiousness.  Hence 
this  translation  forms  a  stage  of  transition  to  the  sort  of 
rhythmic  and  alliterative  prose  which  began  to  prevail  toward 
the  close  of  the  tenth  century. 

But  the  true  spirit  of  national  verse  and  poetic  enthusiasm 
did  not  expire  at  once  in  all  the  singers.  The  influence  of 
earlier  poems,  which  were  industriously  copied  and  often 
recited,  tended  to  preserve  this  spirit.  Great  historical  events 
gave  it  new  life. 

The  custom  of  celebrating  such  events  in  song  was  prime- 
val, and  lived  on  after  the  impulse  of  the  English  epic  muse 
had  ceased.  The  later  chroniclers  oftentimes  made  use  of 
these  songs,  particularly  Henry  of  Huntington,  who  wrote 
his  Historia  Angloriun  in  the  twelfth  century.  It  has  been 
justly  remarked  that  in  such  descriptions  as  Henry's  is  heard 
the  true  echo  of  early  national  poetry ;  as  in  his  portrayal 
of  the  batde  of  Burford  (752),  so  important  for  the  future  of 
the  West-Saxons,  and  of  the  incomparable  heroism  of  Eal- 
dorman  Aethelhun.  Likewise  the  narrative  in  the  Winches- 
ter Annals,  of  the  violent  death  of  King  Cynewulf  and  the 
vengeance  of  his  faithful  followers,  seems  to  be  based  upon 
an  English  song. 

The  chroniclers  themselves  began,  in  the  course  of  the 
tenth  century,  to  cultivate  this  kind  of  poetry;  in  conse- 
quence of  this  its  character  was  not  a  little  changed,  the 
epic  element  receding  before  the  lyrico-rhetorical,  and  the 
reporting  spirit  of  the  annalist. 

In  the  Annals  of  Winchester,  the  piece  of  noble  prose 
which  comes  down  to  the  year  924  is  followed  by  a  section 
of  an  entirely  different  character.  It  covers  the  period  from 
925  to  978,  the  days  of  Aethelstan,  Eadmund,  Eadred,  Ead- 
wig,  Eadgar,  when  the  unity  of  the  English  nation  was 
completed  and  fortified,  and  when  the  realm  reached  the 
b.ummit  of  its  power  and  glory.  The  annals  belonging  to 
tliis  period  are  remarkably  meagre  and  dry,  and  the  short, 
broken,  prose  entries  are  enlivened  only  by  four  poems, 

1  1  he  poet  of  the  Menolo^inn,  which  may  be  placed  between  940  and  980  (bee  p. 
^2),  has  ahready  used  it. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  BRUNANBURH.  9 1 

which  refresh  the  reader  like  oases.  By  far  the  most  notable 
in  length  and  poetic  worth  is  the  first  (for  the  year  937), 
which  describes  the  brilliant  victory  of  King  Aethelstan  and 
his  brother  Eadmund  at  Brunanburh.  They  there  fought 
the  Scots  under  their  King  Constantine  and  the  Northmen 
come  from  Ireland.  The  following  is  a  translation  of  the  en- 
tire poem ; 

This  year  King  Aethelstan,  the  lord  of  eorls,  the  ring-giver  of  war- 
riors, and  eke  his  brotlier,  Eadmund  the  Aetheling,  won  hfelong  fame 
with  the  edges  of  swords  in  battle  at  Brunanburh.  Tlrey  clave  the 
board-wall,  hewed  the  war-lindens,  with  leavings  of  hammers,  Ead- 
weard's  offspring,  as  was  native  to  them  from  their  fathers  that  they 
should  defend  their  land,  their  hoard  and  their  homes,  oft  in  strife 
against  every  foe.  The  foes  bent  low,  they  of  the  Scottish  folk,  and 
ship-farers  fell,  doomed  to  death.  The  field  was  enriched  with  the  war- 
riors' blood,  from  the  morning-tide  when  the  sun,  the  splendid  star, 
God's  beaming  candle,  glided  over  the  grounds,  until  the  noble  creature 
sank  to  his  seat  at  eve.  There  lay  many  a  fighter  of  the  northern  men 
by  spears  laid  low,  shot  over  the  shield,  also  of  the  Scots,  weary,  sated 
with  war.  The  West-Saxons  followed  the  hated  folk  in  rider  bands, 
forth,  the  livelong  day.  With  might  they  hewed  the  fugitives  from  be- 
nind  with  swords  well-sharpened.  The  Mercians  refused  not  the  hard 
hand-play  to  any  of  the  heroes,  who,  doomed  to  death  in  battle,  had 
sought  the  land  with  Anlaf,  in  the  ship's  bosom,  over  the  waves'  blend- 
ing. Five  lay  on  that  battle-stead,  young  kings  put  to  sleep  by  the 
sword ;  eke  seven  of  Anlaf's  eorls,  and  a  countless  number  from  the 
host  of  the  ship-men  and  the  Scots.  There  was  put  to  flight  the  prince 
of  the  Northmen,  pressed  by  need  to  the  ship's  prow  with  a  little  band. 
The  boat  drove  afloat,  the  king  departed,  saved  his  life,  upon  the  fallow 
flood.  Likewise  the  aged  man  came  by  flight  to  his  home  in  the  north, 
Constantine,  the  hoary  battle-hero ;  he  needed  not  to  vaunt  of  the 
sword-mingling :  he  was  deprived  of  his  kinsmen,  stripped  of  his 
friends  on  the  battle-place,  bereft  in  the  struggle,  and  he  had  left  his 
son  upon  the  slaughter-field,  mangled  with  wounds,  young  in  war. 
The  gray-haired  man  had  no  ground  to  boast  of  the  sword-strife,  the 
old  deceiver,  and  Anlaf  no  more  ;  with  the  leavings  of  their  hosts,  they 
might  not  laugh  that  they  were  better  in  the  battle -work  upon  the  bat- 
tle-stead in  the  clash  of  banners,  in  the  meeting  of  spears,  the  gather- 
ing of  men,  the  interchange  of  weapons,  which  they  played  upon  the 
battle-field  with  Eadweard's  offspring.  Then  the  Northmen  went  away 
in  their  nailed  boats,  leaving  the  bloody  spears,  upon  the  sea,  over 
deep  water,  to  seek  Difelin,'  and  their  land  again,  ashamed  in  mind. 
Likewise  the  brothers,  both  together,  king  and  aetheling,  sought  their 
home,  the  land  of  the  West-Saxons,  exulting  in  war.  They  left  behind 
them  to  share  the  corpses,  the  dark-coated  fov\'l,  the  swart  raven,  horny 
beaked,  and  the  ash-coloured  eagle,  white  behind,  to  enjoy  the  carrion, 
the  greedy  war  hawk,  and  that  gray  beast,  the  wolf  in  the  wood.  Never 
yet  was  more  slaughter  on  this  island,  of  folk  felled  before  this,  by  the 

z  Dublip, 


92  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

sword-edges,  so  far  as  the  books  tell  us,  old  wise  men,  since  Angles 
and  Saxons  came  hither  from  the  east,  sought  Britain  over  the  broad 
sea,  the  proud  war-smiths,  overcame  the  Welsh,  the  eorls  eager  for 
glory»  grilled  a  country. 

The  poem  does  not  seem  to  have  been  written  by  one  who 
saw  the  battle.  At  least  we  learn  from  it  no  more  in  sub- 
stance than  might  have  been  put  down  in  a  short  entry  of  the 
Chronicle.  The  poem  lacks  the  epic  perception  and  direct 
power  of  the  folk-song,  as  well  as  invention.  The  patriotic 
enthusiasm,  however,  upon  which  it  is  borne,  the  lyrical  strain 
which  pervades  it,  yield  their  true  effect.  The  rich  resources 
derived  from  the  national  epos  are  here  happily  utilised,  and 
the  pure  versification  and  brilliant  style  of  the  whole  stir  our 
admiration. 

A  short  poem  (for  942)  relates  the  final  annexation  by  King 
Eadmund  of  the  five  "Danish  boroughs"^  in  Alercia,  and 
depicts  the  joy  of  the  inhabitants  at  their  liberation  from  the 
Danish  yoke.  More  important  in  the  matter  of  style  are  the 
account  of  the  coronation  of  Eadgar  at  Bath  in  973,  and  the 
poem  on  Eadgar's  death  in  975.  These  latter  poems  were 
apparently  written  for  the  place  in  which  they  stand.  They 
are  mere  annalistic  entries  in  poetical  form. 

In  the  same  period  may  be  placed  the  Poetical  Calendar^ 
known  as  the  Mcnologium,  which,  in  the  following  century, 
was  prefixed  to  the  Abingdon  recension  of  the  English  Aji- 
nals.  There  had  been  since  Beda's  time  abundant  models 
of  martyrologies  in  Latin  prose  and  verse.  Neither  did  the 
poet  of  this  Calendar  lack  predecessors  in  Enghsh.  He  cer- 
tainly borrowed  his  best  passages  from  earlier  English  poets ; 
but,  like  them,  he  had  a  true  feeling  for  the  life  of  nature, 
which,  occasionally  breaking  forth,  animates  his  style  in  spite 
of  the  dryness  of  his  subject. 

JSIeanwhile  historical  poetry  had  not  died  out  among  the 
people,  and  genuine  poesy  still  lived  in  the  folk-song.  A 
precious  relic  of  such  verse,  a  song  inspired  by  the  immediale 
impression  of  the  event  it  celebrates,  has  been  in  great  part 
spared  by  a  kind  fate.  Its  origin  is  due  to  one  of  the  many 
battles  with  the  Danes  which  shook  England  during  the  per- 
nicious reign  of  the  second  Aethelred.  A  band  of  Normans 
under  Justin  and  Guthmund  made,  in  the  year  991,  an  incur- 

'  Leicester,  Lincoln,  Nottingham,  Stamford,  Derby. 


öYrhtnoth's  death.  ^3 

sion  into  the  eastern  coast  of  England,  and  after  plundering 
Ipswich,  penetrated  into  Essex  as  far  as  Maiden  on  the  Pan- 
ta  river.  Near  this  town  the  river  divides  into  tv/o  branches ; 
the  southerly  arm  washes  the  northern  declivity  of  the  hill 
upon  which  Maldon  lies.  The  Danish  ships  seem  to  have 
taken  their  position  in  this  branch,  while  the  warriors  occu- 
pied the  space  between  the  two  arms  of  the  river.  Then  the 
East-Saxon  ealdorman,  Byrhtnoth,  advanced  from  the  north 
with  a  hastily  collected  band,  and  halted  on  the  northern  arm 
of  the  Panta,  on  whose  shores  ensued  the  conflict  celebrated 
in  the  song  of  Byi'htnotlC s  Death} 

Byrhtnoth  brought  his  force  into  battle  array,  and  riding 
about  exhorted  and  encouraged  his  warriors.  Then  he  dis- 
mounted from  his  horse,  and  took  his  place  among  his  faith- 
ful thegns. 

On  the  other  shore  stood  a  herald  of  the  Vikings  who, 
with  a  powerful  voice  and  threatening  tone,  spoke  the  de- 
mand of  the  sea-rovers  :  "  Active  sea-men  send  me  to  thee ; 
they  bid  me  say  to  thee,  that  thou  must  quickly  send  rings 
for  safety ;  and  it  is  better  for  you  that  ye  buy  off  this  spear- 
rush  with  tribute,  than  that  we  share  such  hard  fight.  If 
thou  who  art  the  richest  here,  dost  decide  that  thou  wilt  re- 
deem thy  people,  wilt  give  the  sea-men  money  at  their  own 
prizing,  in  exchange  for  peace,  then  we  will  enter  our  ships 
w^ith  the  treasures,  go  afloat,  and  keep  peace  with  you," 
Byrhtnoth  held  fast  his  shield,  swung  his  slender  ash  aloft, 
and  answered  with  scorn  and  decision  :  "  Hearest  thou,  sea- 
farer, what  this  folk  saith?  They  will  give  you  spears  for  trib- 
ute, the  poisonous  lance-point,  and  the  old  sword,  war-trap- 
pings that  are  not  good  for  you  in  battle.  Messenger  of  the 
water-men,  announce  again,  say  to  thy  people  warlike  words  : 
A  noble  eorl  stands  here  with  his  band,  who  will  protect  this 
inheritance,  Aethelred's,  my  prince's  country,  folk,  and  lands. 
Heathen  shall  fall  in  the  battle.  To  me  it  seems  too  shame- 
ful that  ye  should  go  to  your  ships  with  your  treasures,  un- 
fought,  now  that  ye  have  come  hither  thus  far  into  our  land. 
Ye  shall  not  gain  treasure  so  easily;  rather  shall  the  point  and 
the  edge  become  us,  grim  battle-play,  before  we  give  tribute." 
He  drew  up  his  warriors  upon  the  bank.  The  high  tide  that 
swelled  the  Panta  stream  prevented  the  forces  from  getting 

1  Bibliothek  der  ags.  Poesie,  I,  343-352. 


94-    .  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

to  each  other.  On  its  shores  stood  opposed  the  East- 
Saxons  and  the  "  host  of  the  ashen  ships."  Neither  could 
injure  the  other;  only  by  arrows  were  some  struck  down. 
The  ebb  came;  the  rovers  stood  ready,  eager  for  battle. 
Then  the  protector  of  heroes  commanded  a  hardened  vet- 
eran, Wulfstan,  son  of  Keola,  to  guard  the  bridge.  Near 
him  stood  the  two  fearless  warriors,  Aelfhere  and  Mac- 
cus.  They  defended  themselves  with  vigour  against  the  ene- 
my, as  long  as  they  could  wield  their  weapons.  Then  the 
evil  guests  asked  that  passage  over  the  ford  be  granted  them. 
In  his  haughtiness  the  eorl  gave  them  the  shore  free.  The 
son  of  Byrhthelm  (Byrhtnoth)  called  out  over  the  cold  wa- 
ters (the  warriors  lay  in  wait) :  "  Now  that  space  is  cleared 
for  you,  come  to  us  at  once,  men,  to  the  battle  !  God  alone 
knows  who  shall  rule  the  slaughter-place."  Then  the  war- 
wolves,  the  hosts  of  the  Vikings,  without  shunning  the  water, 
waded  westward  across  the  Panta.  B}nrhtnoth  stood  there 
with  his  heroes  in  readiness;  he  ordered  them  to  form  the 
battle-hedge  with  their  shields,  and  to  maintain  their  ranks 
fast  against  the  enemy.  Then  the  time  was  come  when  those 
consecrated  to  death  should  fall;  a  cry  was  raised;  ravens 
circled  in  the  air,  and  eagles,  craving  for  carrion ;  on  the 
earth  clamour  prevailed.  Spears  flew  from  the  hands ;  the 
bow  was  busy ;  the  shield  received  the  point ;  bitter  was  the 
rage  of  battle  ;  warriors  fell.  On  both  sides  lay  the  young 
fighters.  Wulfmser,  Byrhtnoth's  kinsman,  sank,  struck  down 
by  swords.  Eadweard  avenged  him,  as  with  his  sword  he 
laid  one  of  the  Vikings  low  at  hi^feet.  The  warriors  stood 
fast.  Byrhtnoth  urged  them  ony  Wounded  by  the  spear  of 
a  sea-man,  the  eorl  struck  the  shaft  with  his  shield ;  it  broke 
and  sprang  back.  He  fiercely  thrust  his  own  spear  through 
his  enemy's  neck  to  his  heart,  so  that  his  corselet  burst.  The 
hero  rejoiced.  He  laughed  and  thanked  God  for  the  day's 
work  which  had  been  vouchsafed  him.  I'hen  from  the  hand 
of  another  enemy  there  flew  a  spear  which  pierced  him 
through.  Wulfmasr  the  youth,  Wulfstan's  son,  who  fought  at 
his  side,  drew  the  bloody  dart  from  the  hero's  body,  and 
sent  it  back ;  the  point  penetrated,  and  stretched  him  upon 
the  earth  who  had  hit  Wulfmnsr's  master.  Then  a  mailed 
man  stepped  up  to  the  eorl  to  rob  him  of  his  weapons.  Byrht- 
noth drew  his  broad  brown  sword  from  its  sheath,  and  smote 


EYRHTNOTH^S  DEATH.  ^^ 

him  upon  the  corselet.  But  one  of  the  ship-men  crippled  the 
hero's  hand  with  a  blow.  The  fallow-hilted  sword  fell  to  the 
ground ;  he  could  no  longer  hold  it.  But  the  gray  battle- 
hero  still  cheered  on  the  youths;  his  feet  refused  to  serve 
him  ;  he  looked  toward  heaven  and  said :  "  I  thank  Thee, 
Ruler  of  Peoples,  for  all  the  joys  that  I  have  had  in  the  world. 
Now,  mild  Creator,  I  have  most  need  that  Thou  grant  my 
spirit  good,  that  my  soul  may  go  to  Thee,  may  pass  with 
peace  into  Thy  power.  King  of  Angels."  Then  the  heathen 
struck  him  down,  and  the  two  heroes  who  fought  near  him, 
Aelfnoth  and  Wulfmasr,  gave  up  their  spirits  at  their  lord's 
side. 

Cowards  now  turned  to  flight.  First  the  sons  of  Adda : 
Godric  forsook  the  noble  one  who  had  given  him  many  a 
horse,  and  fled  upon  his  lord's  own  steed ;  and  with  him  his 
brothers,  Godwine  and  Godwig,  and  more  of  the  warriors 
than  was  at  all  becoming.  Aethelred's  eorl,  the  people's 
prince,  had  fallen ;  all  of  his  kindred  saw  that  their  lord  lay 
slain.  The  proud  warriors  rushed  up,  willed  either  to  avenge 
the  dear  one  or  to  yield  their  lives.  Aelfric's  son,  the  young 
warrior  Aelfvvine,  exhorted  them.  He  said :  "  Think  of  the 
speeches  which  we  often  spoke  at  mead,  when  we  raised  up 
vaunting  upon  the  bench,  heroes  in  the  hall,  about  hard  bat- 
tle. Now  may  be  shown  who  is  bold.  I  will  show  forth  my 
lineage  to  all,  that  I  was  of  high  race  in  Mercia.  My  old 
father  was  called  Ealhhelra,  a  wise  ealdorman,  worldly  pros- 
perous. Never  shall  the  thegns  reproach  me  among  the  peo- 
ple, that  I  v/ould  desert  this  host,  and  seek  my  country,  now 
that  my  prince  lies  slain  in  battle.  That  is  my  greatest  grief: 
he  was  both  my  kinsman  and  my  lord.!'  Then  he  strode 
forward,  thinking  of  blood-vengeance.  To  the  same  effect 
spoke  Offa  and  Leofsunu.  Dunhere,  too,  an  agedceorl, 
took  up  the  word.  Swinging  his  lance,  he  bade  all  heroes 
avenge  Byrhtnoth :  "  Never  may  he  hesitate  who  thinketh 
to  avenge  his  lord  in  the  people,  nor  care  for  his  life."  They 
went  forward,  careless  of  life.  The  kinsmen  began  a  hard 
fight;  they  prayed  God  it  might  be  granted  them  to  avenge 
their  kin  and  chief,  and  to  work  slaughter  among  their  ene- 
mies. Aescferth  the  Northumbrian,  Ecglaf's  son,  helped 
them  zealously;  ceaseless  flew  his  arrows  and  pierced  the 
foe.     Eadweard  the  Long  swore  he  would  not  leave  the  field 


96  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

where  his  prince  lay,  a  foot's  breadth.  He  broke  through 
the  shield-wall,  and,  before  he  lay  with  the  corpses,  fought  until 
he  had  worthily  avenged  the  treasure-giver,  among  the  sea- 
warriors.  So  also  did  Aetheric  and  many  another.  Ofta  slew 
the  sea-farer,  Gadde's  kinsman.  But  he  himself  was  soon 
struck  down.  He  had  kept  the  vow  he  made  to  his  lord:  that 
they  would  ride  safe  homeward  together,  or  fall  in  the  fight, 
die  of  their  wounds  upon  the  slaughter-field.  And  like  a 
true  thegn,  he  lay  near  his  lord.  There  fought  V/ihstan, 
Thurstan's  son,  and  the  two  brothers,  Oswold  and  Eadwold, 
urged  on  the  heroes.  But  Byrhtwold,  the  aged  comrade, 
spoke  as  he  grasped  fast  his  shield  and  shook  his  ash :  "  The 
spirit  sliould  be  all  the  harder,  the  heart  all  the  bolder,  the 
courage  should  be  the  greater,  the  more  our  forces  lessen ; 
here  lieth  our  prince  cut  down,  the  brave  one,  slain  in  the 
dust.  May  he  ever  mourn  who  thinketh  to  turn  now  from 
this  battle-play.  I  am  old  in  days;  I  will  not  go  away,  but 
I  think  to  lie  by  my  lord's  side;  I  will  lie  by  such  a  beloved 
warrior."  Godric,  Aethelgar's  son,  also  exhorted  all  to  the 
struggle.  He  often  sent  his  spear  against  the  Vikings,  struck 
and  flung  them  down,  until  he  sank  in  the  fight.  That  was 
not  the  Godric  who  fled  from  the  battle.  .  .  . 

At  this  point  the  fragment  breaks  off. 

This  song  of  Byj'htnofh's  Death  is  one  of  the  pearls  of  Old 
English  poetry,  full,  as  it  is,  of  dramatic  life,  and  of  the  fidel- 
ity of  an  eye-witness.  Its  deep  feeling  throbs  in  the  clear 
and  powerful  portrayal.  In  sharp  contrast  to  the  Song  of 
Bninanbin'h^  the  lyrical  element  is  still  less  prominent  than 
in  Beoimdf.  The  style  is  simple,  pithy,  noble;  compared 
with  the  epic,  it  is  concise  and  even  dry.  This  is  partly  due 
to  the  difference  between  two  classes  of  poetry,  and  partly 
to  the  disparity  in  time.  But  the  basis  of  the  national  mind 
is  the  same,  and  the  fundamental  character  of  the  national 
art  remains  unchanged.  The  ideas  of  the  comitatus  and  its 
heroic  spirit  retain  their  full  strength  and  influence ;  and  po- 
etry still  possesses  all  the  necessary  resources  for  their  ex- 
pression. 

There  appear  tokens  of  metrical  decline,  of  the  dissolution 
of  ancient  art-forms.  The  law  of  alliteration  is  often  vio- 
lated, both  as  regards  the  position  of  the  chief  alliterative 
v/ord  and  the  emphasis  of  the  alUterative  syllables.     The  re- 


METRICAL  DECLINE.  97 

lation  between  sentence  and  verse  has  become  more  harmo- 
nious ;  both  often  close  at  the  same  place.  Thus  the  unity 
of  the  verse  strikes  the  ear  more  smoothly.  But  at  the  same 
time  is  opened  a  path  leading  to  the  complete  destruction 
of  this  unity.  Since  the  caesura  retains  its  old  force,  its  power 
is  emphasised  by  the  narrow  limits  of  the  now  isolated  verse. 
Growing  looseness  in  alliteration,  frequent  use  of  the  leonine 
rhyme  (which  rarely  appears  in  Byrhinoth)^  will  inevitably 
convert  that  unity  into  duality. 

That  the  popular  poetry  went  on  in  this  direction,  we  see 
in  the  many  historical  poems  which  were  inserted  in  later 
copies  of  the  English  annals;  their  authors,  probably  monks, 
were  doubtless  influenced  by  the  folk-song.  Good  examples 
are  the  poem,  in  two  manuscripts^  (year  975),  on  Eadgar's 
death,  and  especially  the  song  on  the  Aethehng  Aelfred,  the 
son  of  King  Aethelred  (year  1036).  The  latter,  owing  to  the 
complete  dissolution  of  alliterative  forms  and  the  frequent  use 
of  rhyme,  reads  like  a  product  of  the  transition  period,  and 
almost  like  a  poem  in  short  couplets. 

An  alternation  of  long  and  short  lines,  as  well  as  utterly 
lawless  alliteration,  appear  in  other  poems,  as  that  on  the 
death  in  979^  of  Eadweard  the  Martyr.  There  is  often  a  dis- 
position to  restrict  the  alliteration  to  the  short  line.  Here 
and  there  we  find  passages  clothed  in  rhythmical  prose,  some- 
times alliterative,  and  sometimes  rhymed.^ 

On  the  other  hand  the  writer  of  the  song  on  the  death  of 
Eadweard  the  Confessor  wields  the  ancient  forms  with  some 
ease  and  grace.        i 

IX. 

King  Aelfred  was,  in  truth,  the  first  to  give  to  his  people 
a  national  prose  literature,  and  directly  after  him,  in  the 
chronicler  of  his  last  deeds  and  of  the  successes  of  his  son 
Eadweard,  arose  an  unusually  talented  prose  writer,  but  one 
who,  unfortunately,  does  not  seem  to  have  ventured  upon 
any  work  of  great  scope.  With  Eadweard's  death  came  a 
break  of  some  length,  when  production  did  not  entirely  cease, 

'  Cotton  Tib.  IV.  and  Laud  636.     See  Thorpe,  p.  228;  Earle,  p.  125. 
'  Earle,  p.  129. 

'  For  an  instance,  see  the  entry  for  959  found  in  several  manuscripts,  Thorpe,  p. 
»17;  Earle,  p.  119. 

H 


gS  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

but  yielded  no  works  which  could,  at  the  same  time,  furnish 
models  of  writing  and  educate  the  people  in  the  spirit  of 
Aelfred. 

To  judge  from  the  texts  transmitted,  there  began,  in  this 
period,  a  medical  literature  in  English,  though  i-ts  first  monu- 
ment presupposes  a  certain  learned  tradition  in  the  English 
medical  circles.  The  Z^ce  Boc  (Leech  Book)  is  a  compre- 
hensive collection  of  medical  prescriptions  and  recipes  for 
the  most  diverse  diseases,  the  causes  of  which  are  also  touched 
upon.  It  consists  of  two  books ;  but  in  the  manuscript  that 
preserves  it  to  us,  a  third  of  similar  contents  has  been  added, 
and  it  probably  belongs  to  the  same  period.^ 

The  originals  from  which  the  compiler  of  the  L(Bce  Boc 
directly  or  indirectly  drew  are  many  and  various ;  Greek  and 
Roman  writers  played  an  important  part,  though  the  former 
were  most  probably  accessible  to  the  English  physicians  only 
in  Latin  translations.  Beside  these,  the  authority  of  physi- 
cians with  such  names  as  Oxa  or  Dun  is  occasionally  set 
forth,  and  these  we  may,  with  little  doubt,  regard  as  English- 
men. Scandinavian  influence  is  unmistakable  in  some  pas- 
sages. The  entry  subjoined  to  a  number  of  recipes  (II.  C.  44) 
is  very  interesting.  "  Dominus  Helias,  Patriarch  of  Jerusalem, 
caused  all  this  to  be  communicated  to  King  Aelfred."  ^  The 
prominent  part  played  in  the  Lcece  Boc  by  superstition  may 
be  explained  by  the  ancient  relation  between  it  and  medi- 
cine. Many  diseases  are  traced  to  magic,  to  the  influence  of 
malevolent  beings  endowed  with  higher  powers,  and  often- 
times very  strange  remedies  are  prescribed  for  their  removal, 
as  especially  spells  and  incantations.  Among  them  is  one  in 
the  Gaelic  language.  Later  medical  books  did  not  adopt  a 
different  method.  In  a  collection  of  prescriptions  transmit- 
ted in  the  Harl.  MS.  585.,  such  formulas  in  English  or  Latin, 
and  partly  even  in  Greek  and  Hebrew,  fill  a  disproportion- 
ately large  space.  Among  the  Enghsh  formulas  in  this  manu- 
script are  several  charms  in  verse  dating  back  to  an  earlier 
period. 

Besides  the  larger  collections,  many  recipes  and  formulas  of 
incantation  have  reached  us  written  upon  loose  sheets.    There 

1  At  the  close  of  the  second  book  are  some  Latin  verses,  the  first  of  which  runs  : 
Bald  habet  hunc  librum  Cild  queM  conscribere  j'ussii.  Saxon  Leechdoms,  Ed.  O. 
Cockayne,  II.  298. 

*  Ibul.,  p.  .ijo. 


RELIGIOUS  PROSE.  99 

are  also  short  medical  essays,  treatises  on  various  topics  of 
superstition ;  as,  the  influence  of  the  moon's  phases  or  the 
days  of  the  week  upon  the  fate  of  a  man  born  under  their 
sway,  the  interpretation  of  dreams,  etc. 

Particular  mention  may  also  be  made  of  the  English  Her- 
barium^ which  was  probably  composed  in  the  first  half  of 
the  eleventh  century,  and  whose  first  part  is  founded  upon 
Apulejus,  and  the  second  upon  Dioskorides,  though  not  upon 
the  original  text.  As  here  the  medicinal  uses  of  single  plants 
are  analysed,  those  of  quadrupeds  are  treated  in  the  writing, 
Mediana  de  quadrtipedibiis,  connected  with  the  name  of  Sex- 
tus  Placitus.  This  also  underwent  an  English  rendering  at 
about  the  same  time. 

Of  reHgious  prose,  the  tenth  century  seems  to  have  yielded 
more  than  one  Engfish  work  of  doubtful  theology;  though 
this  was  without  question  more  due  to  meagre  learning  than 
to  any  heterodox  tendency  in  the  clergy.  Aelfric,  who  be- 
gan to  write  in  the  last  decade  of  the  century,  says  in  the 
preface  to  his  homilies :  "  I  saw  and  heard  numerous  errors 
in  many  English  books,  which  unlearned  men,  in  their  sim- 
plicity, counted  much  wisdom."  ^  In  another  place  he  asks : 
"  How  can  any  read  the  false  representations,  which  they 
call  the  Vision  of  Paul  ?  since  he  himself  says  that  he  heard 
unspeakable  words  which  it  is  not  lawful  for  man  to  utter."  ^ 
The  loss  of  such  writings  is  certainly  more  to  be  regretted 
by  the  historian  of  literature  than  the  loss  of  many  an  ortho- 
dox homily. 

Nevertheless  books  were  not  quite  lacking  which  the  or- 
thodoxy of  that  day  deemed  neither  apochryphal  nor  dan- 
gerous. We  may  conclude  from  a  remark  of  Aelfric  that 
there  existed  in  English,  at  his  time,  an  exhaustive  account 
of  the  sufferings  of  the  apostles  Peter  and  Paul.  It  is  true 
that  this  cannot  have  been  composed  long  before  his  own 
first  writings  appeared,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  may  have 
remained  unacquainted  with  some  of  the  works  extant  be- 
fore him.  Perhaps  among  them  was  the  prose  version  of 
the  life  of  St.  Guthlac  by  FeHx  of  Croyland. 

Several  interlinear  versions  appeared  in  the  tenth  century, 
especially  in  Northumbria.     But  a  nearer  consideration  of 

'^  Homilies  of  Aelfric,  Ed.  Thorpe,  I.  2. 
^  Ibid.,  p.  332. 


100  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

them  belongs  to  the  history  of  language,  not  to  that  of  lit- 
erature. Suffice  it  to  note  that  the  splendid  Gospel  Manu- 
script, wrought  in  Lindisfarne,  to  St.  Cuthberht's  honour,  and 
afterwards  brought  to  Durham  upon  the  removal  of  the 
bishopric,  was  supplied  with  an  interlinear  version  in  this 
period,  and  so  were  the  rituals  of  Durham,  as  well  as  the 
so-called  Rtishworth  Gospels. 

A  high  development  of  ecclesiastical  literature  presup- 
posed, above  all,  a  reformation  of  the  clergy.  With  all  his 
good  intentions,  Aelfred  had  not  been  able  adequately  to 
carry  out  such  a  reformation ;  indeed,  the  achievement  of 
this  reform,  as  it  was  brought  about  later,  would  justly  have 
caused  grave  scruples  in  the  great  king,  who  was  as  good  a 
statesman  as  he  was  a  warm  friend  of  the  Church,  and  whose 
humanity  was  as  strong  as  his  piety.  But  the  enormous  ad- 
vance of  national  culture  in  his  reign  was  ahnost  entirely  his 
work,  and  had  therefore  a  popular,  secular  character.  His 
own  knowledge  did  not  suffice  to  elevate  the  clergy  and 
scholarship  in  his  kingdom  to  their  former  level,  nor  did  that 
of  his  co-labourers ;  and  what  was  accomplished  in  this  di- 
rection soon  went  to  ruin  under  his  successors.  A  necessary 
consequence  of  this  was,  that  even  Aelfred's  more  popular 
efforts  were  continued  with  no  great  vigour  after  his  death. 
Ever  will  those  men  form  an  exception  in  whom,  as  in  Ael- 
fred, the  passion  for  knowledge  and  the  love  of  humanity 
can  make  up  for  defective  learning. 

The  picture  of  the  clergy  in  the  writings  of  its  reformers, 
is  doubtless  darker  than  the  reality.  They  were,  however, 
as  ignorant  as  when  Aelfred  began  to  reign,  and,  doubtless, 
still  more  secularised.  It  might  not,  perhaps,  have  greatly 
shocked  a  parish  of  that  day,  if  its  pastor  had  a  wife  and 
children ;  but  there  were  also  cases  of  divorce  and  bigamy 
among  the  English  clergy.  Even  then,  many  livings  were 
apparently  sinecures,  whose  incumbents  were  wont  to  gratify 
their  favourite  passions,  without  troubling  themselves  about 
their  flocks.  Horses,  dogs,  in  short,  the  pleasures  of  the 
chase  were  as  highly  esteemed  by  them  as  by  the  country 
gentleman  whose  type  Fielding  has  drawn  for  us.  And  they 
loved,  not  less  than  that  rural  squire,  a  good  draught  and 
the  entertainment  of  a  merry  repast.  Some  of  them  even 
became  noted  as  drinking-poets.     All  in  all,  we  may  assume 


DUNSTAN.  lOI 

that  the  clergy  did  not  stand  much  higher  in  intellectual  cult- 
ure than  the  laity,  and  consequently,  that  they  were  a  grade 
lower  in  morals. 

The  cloister  hfe  upon  which  depended  the  progress  of 
learning  in  the  earher  Middle  Ages  languished,  was,  indeed, 
as  good  as  extinct.  Nearly  all  English  monasteries  were 
empty,  or  lay  in  ruins.  The  monks  still  left  were  scarcely 
conspicuous  for  monastic  discipline. 

That  a  reaction  of  strict  asceticism  should  follow  such  a 
state  of  things,  was  unavoidable.  Movements  in  that  direc- 
tion began  to  be  felt  in  England  at  nearly  the  same  time  as 
on  the  continent,  where  the  cloister  of  Cluny  became  their 
centre,  and  they  did  not  develop  without  some  influence  from 
France.^  Their  soul,  however,  was  the  great  primate  Dun- 
stan,  one  of  those  sharply-defined  figures  wont  to  appear  at 
the  turning-points  of  church  history. 

Dunstan  was  a  passionate,  energetic  man,  whose  ecclesi- 
astical zeal  smothered  many  a  gentler  emotion.  He  had 
a  clear  head,  but  an  end  was  often  plainer  to  him  than  the 
means  of  reaching  it.  After  a  severe,  even  ascetic  training,^ 
he  came  to  the  Aethelstan's  court.  His  youth  was  varied  by 
an  amour  and  an  illness.  Then  came  the  conversion,  the 
hermit  life,  and  the  study  after  the  manner  of  Demosthenes, 
to  which  Dunstan  joined  exercise  in  every  kind  of  craft. 
Under  King  Eadmund  (940-946),  he  began  to  win  public 
notice,  and  to  realise  his  maturing  ideas.  The  king  entrusted 
to  him  the  care  of  his  new  foundation  of  Glastonbury.  This 
monastery  became,  under  Dunstan,  the  starting-point  for  the 
revival  of  English  monachism,  to  which  also  the  succeeding 
ruler,  Eadred,  (946-955)  proved  favourable.  What  Dunstan 
wished  was  twofold :  to  bring  back  monastic  life  upon  the 
basis  of  the  rule  of  St.  Benedict  to  its  original  purity  and 
strict  discipline,  and  to  permeate  the  entire  English  church 
with  the  spirit  of  monasticism.  A  strong  party  soon  gath- 
ered around  the  reformer;  but  opponents  also  banded  to- 
gether. The  latter  found  a  powerful  support  in  Eadmund's 
elder  son  King  Eadwig  (955-958).  Dunstan  was  banished. 
But  upon  the  accession  of  Eadgar  (958-975),  the  reform  party 

1  The  sending  of  Osgar  to  Fleury  and  Abbo  of  Fleury's  journey  to  England  may  be 
mentioned  in  this  connection. 

2  According  to  the  English  A  nnals,  Dunstan  was  bom  in  the  year  925,  a  da.te  which, 
from  internal  evidence,  may  be  considered  as  set  too  late. 


I02  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

was  victorious.  One  of  the  first  acts  of  the  new  ruler  was  to 
recall  Duiistan,  for  whom  he  had  long  felt  a  warm  admira- 
tion. He  made  him,  in  quick  succession,  bishop  of  Worcester, 
of  London,  and  finally,  archbishop  of  Canterbury.  As  pri- 
mate of  England  and  adviser  of  the  king,  he  possessed  an 
influence  approaching  that  of  Richelieu,  and  by  means  of  it 
he  could  proceed  to  a  full  realisation  of  his  plans.  The  secu- 
lar clergy  were  deprived  of  their  pleasures,  and  marriage  was 
forbidden  among  them.  On  the  other  hand,  the  duty  of 
preaching,  of  explaining  to  their  flocks  the  dominical  and  ferial 
pericopes  was  enjoined  upon  them.  Restored  or  newly- 
founded  convents  sprang  up  everywhere,  which  were  most 
richly  endowed  by  the  piety  of  the  king  and  many  of  his 
thegns.  The  secular  clergy,  with  the  exception  of  those  who 
themselves  took  to  religious  life,  were  expelled  from  a  large 
number  of  the  chief  churches  of  England  and  replaced  by 
monks.  In  short,  it  was  by  a  violent  revolution  that  Dun- 
stan  accomplished  his  ideas  of  reform. 

In  these  conflicts  and  labours,  Dunstan  found  powerful  sup- 
porters in  such  men  as  Bishop  Oswald  of  Worcester ;  and 
above  all,  in  Aethelwold,  who  worked  for  the  same  end  as  he, 
but  with  greater  discretion,  and  who  was  chiefly  active  in 
procuring  the  means  that  could  promote  the  central  idea  of 
those  aims,  and  thus  create  lasting  results. 

Aethelwold  had  passed  his  youth  with  Dunstan  at  King 
Aethelstan's  court,  he  was  consecrated  a  priest  on  the  same 
day  with  him,  and  followed  him  to  Glastonbury.  Here  in 
the  Benedictine  garb,  he  continued  his  studies,  which  he  had 
ever  zealously  pursued,  and  became  one  of  the  best  scholars 
of  his  time.  Made  abbot  of  Abingdon  by  King  Eadred,  he 
worked  tirelessly  to  advance  the  greatness  of  his  monastery. 
He  increased  the  number  of  monks  more  than  fourfold  (he 
had  brought  some  of  them  with  him  from  Glastonbury) ;  he 
had  one  of  his  loyal  followers,  Osgar,  fetch  from  Fleury  a 
copy  of  the  rules  of  St.  Benedict,  together  with  oral  directions 
for  their  practice.  He  was  able  to  restore  former  possessions 
to  his  abbey,  and  to  procure  further  valuable  donations  from 
King  Eadgar.  With  the  king's  support,  even  as  he  says,  at 
his  command,  he  built  a  splendid  'minster  at  Abingdon,  and 
from  his  own  means  bestowed  rich  ornaments  and  costly 
utensils  upon  it.     He  became  bishop  of  Winchester  in  the 


AETHELWOLD.  IO3 

year  963,  and  from  that  time  on  he  was  Dunstan's  right  hand. 
The  "priests"  of  the  new  minster  in  the  episcopal  city  had 
very  soon  to  give  way  before  the  "monks"  of  Abingdon. 
The  convent  of  Ely  was  restored  by  Aethelwold's  zeal,  and 
largely  endowed.  A  new  one  was  founded  at  Peterborough, 
where  nothing  is  said  to  have  remained  of  the  former  edi- 
fice save  ancient  masonry  in  the  forest ;  and  another  cloister 
soon  after  arose  in  its  vicinity,  at  Thorney.  The  rule  of  St. 
Benedict  and  the  discipline  of  Glastonbury  and  Abingdon 
were  everywhere   introduced. 

But  what  makes  Aethelwold's  memory  truly  venerable, 
was  his  care  for  the  education  of  the  clergy,  and  thence  of 
the  people.  The  school  of  the  Old  Minster  at  Winchester 
under  him  became  the  source  of  higher  education  for  a  large 
part  of  England,  and  there  he  himself  took  active  part  in  in- 
struction and  admonition.  With  his  high  station,  his  elo- 
quence, and  his  knowledge,  his  zeal  must  indeed  have  inflam- 
ed that  of  his  pupils.  But  above  all,  he  communicated  to 
them  his  own  love  for  the  mother-tongue,  which,  with  the 
Latin,  was  zealously  studied  in  the  writings  of  Aelfred. 

Aethelwold  himself  became  an  author,  though  in  a  limited 
field.  His  English,  but  by  no  means  literal,  version  of  the 
Regula  Sancti  Benedictl  is  famous,  though  the  main  portion 
of  it  has  not  yet  been  published ;  he  composed  this  work  at 
the  request  of  King  Eadgar,  for  the  benefit  of  those  entering 
the  monastic  life  without  scholarship.  He  subjoined  to  this 
translation  an  appendix^  on  the  history  of  the  English 
church,  in  which,  with  exalted  language,  he  celebrated  the 
services  of  King  Eadgar  in  the  cause  to  which  he  himself  had 
consecrated  his  fife.  » 

Aethelwold  outlived  Eadgar  and  his  unhappy  son  Ead- 
mund  the  Martyr  (975-979)5  and  died  in  the  year  984,  four 
years  before  Dunstan.  He  did  not  live  to  see  the  time  v/hen 
the  seeds  of  a  national  literature  v/hich  he  had  strewn  should 
bear  rich  fruit.  But  phenomena  appeared  as  early  as  during 
Eadgar's  reign  which  at  least  foreshadowed  that  time. 

The  English  homihes,  preserved  in  part  fragmentarily  in 
the  Blickling  manuscript,  were  composed  in  the  year  971. 
Although  they  probably  did  not  issue  directly  from  Aethel- 
wold's school  in  Winchester,  yet  they  were  beyond  question 

•  ^axon  Leecfidoms  III.,  432  et  seg. 


104  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

a  product  of  the  tendency  of  thought  created  by  Dunstan, 
Aethelwold,  and  their  adherents. 

The  homiHst  speaks  often' in  the  tone  of  an  exhorter  to  re- 
pentance, announcing  the  near  approach  of  the  end  of  all 
things.  "  No  man  on  earth  is  so  holy  and  none  in  heaven," 
he  says  in  the  homily  on  Ascension-day,  *'  as  to  know  when 
our  Lord  will  put  an  end  to  the  world  on  the  judgment-day, 
save  only  the  Lord  alone.  Yet  we  know  that  the  time  is  not 
distant,  since  the  signs  and  tokens  which  our  Lord  foretold 
would  happen  before  the  last  day,  have  all  been  fulfilled,  with 
the  single  exception  that  the  accursed  stranger,  the  Antichrist, 
has  not  yet  come  to  the  earth.  Yet  it  will  not  now  be  long  be- 
fore that  shall  also  happen;  for  this  earth  must  necessarily  end 
in  the  time  which  is  now  present,  since  five  ages  have  already 
passed.  In  this  age  of  the  world,  then,  shall  this  earth  come 
to  an  end,  and  the  greater  part  of  it  has  already  elapsed : 
exactly  nine  hundred  and  seventy-one  years  this  year."  ^ 
The  preacher,  it  is  true,  takes  occasion  to  add  that  the  ages 
have  not  all  been  of  equal  length,  and  no  man  can  know  how 
long  God  will  make  the  present  millennium  ;  but  this  doubt- 
less did  not  prevent  his  hearers  from  looking  forward  with 
terror  to  the  end  of  the  century.  The  homilist  dehghts  in 
descriptions  of  the  last  judgment  and  of  the  signs  preceding 
it,  of  hell  and  its  torments — things  of  which  he  has  a  very 
complete  conception.  Seriously  and  impressively,  he  exhorts 
to  repentance,  and  urges  even  priests  and  bishops  to  a  pure 
and  pious  life.  His  learning  in  theology  is  not  great,  and  is 
somewhat  confused,  however  well-informed  he  is  in  the  le- 
gends of  the  saints.  He  frequently  draws  from  apocryphal 
sources  :  from  the  Visio  Pauli  and  the  Evangelium  JVicode??ii. 
He  sometimes  makes  one  and  the  same  person  speak  words 
put  in  the  mouths  of  different  personages  in  the  Bible,  and 
adds  matter  contained  only  in  the  expositions  of  commenta- 
tors and  homilists.  He  seems  more  concerned  in  effectively 
shaping  his  scenes  than  for  painstaking,  historical  accuracy 
or  literal  fidelity  to  the  Bible. 

His  language  has  many  elements  of  antiquity,  and  is  not 
even  free  from  clumsy  pleonasms,  like  the  use  of  the  article 
after  the  possessive  pronoun,  or  of  the  substantive  after  the 
personal  pronoun  which  should  replace  it;  the  latter  license 

^Bückling  Homilus,  Ed.  R.  Morris,  p.  117-18. 


AELFRIC.  105 

occurs  more  frequently  in  some  of  the  homilies,  as  in  I.  and 
XI.  Yet  the  style  is,  on  the  whole,  animated,  is  pervaded 
by  a  certain  heartiness  of  tone,  and  is  sometimes  impressive. 

About  twenty  years  after  the  appearance  of  these  homilies, 
Aelfric  began  to  write ;  he  himself  certainly  being  the  chief 
among  the  works  of  Aethelwold. 

Born  towards  the  end  of  Eadgar's  reign,  he  grew  up,  from 
the  beginning,  in  that  atmosphere  which  Dunstan  and  Aeth- 
elwold first  had  to  create  about  themselves.  He  was  of  a 
gentle  and  loving,  yet  decided,  nature,  and  was  educated  in 
the  monastery  school  of  Aethelwold,  whom  he  ever  held  in 
pious  remembrance,  and  into  whose  ideas  he  completely  en- 
tered. Though  lacking  special  energy  of  creative  power,  he 
possessed,  in  a  high  degree,  the  gift  of  mental  assimilation 
of  facts  and  ideas,  and  of  moulding  them  into  lucid  coher- 
ence; he  also  had  great  facility  of  expression.  At  once 
cautious  and  bold,  with  a  sure  judgment  on  the  practical 
need  of  the  moment,  a  nice  tact  in  the  management  of  per- 
sons and  affairs,  this  cultured  priest,  this  monk  of  spotless 
life,  this  learned  divine,  won  many  friends  among  both  clergy 
and  laity.  The  Ealdorman  Aethelweard,  the  son-in-law  of 
the  heroic  Byrhtnoth,  was  especially  noteworthy  among  the 
latter;  in  him  was  united  literary  culture,  wide  for  a  lay- 
man, with  a  great  fondness  for  monks,  a  quality  also  charac- 
teristic of  his  famous  father-in-law.  Aethelweard's  son 
Aethelmaer  seems  to  have  stood  even  nearer  to  our  Aelfric 
than  his  father. 

Aelfric  was  more  than  once  employed  in  various  ecclesi- 
astical affairs,  and  especially,  as  his  peculiar  talent  became 
known,  was  he  often  called  upon  to  compose  writings,  as  the 
needs  of  clergymen  or  laymen  urgently  required  them.  It 
was  only  to  respond  to  these  needs,  and  not  from  any  strong 
creative  impulse  or  lust  of  fame  that  Aelfric  wrote,  while  he 
gloriously  continued  the  work  of  the  great  Aelfred,  upon 
whose  style  he  had  formed  himself 

His  first  work  was  apparently  a  double  cycle  of  homilies 
numbering  eighty  in  all,^  and  covering  the  entire  ecclesias- 
tical year.  He  dedicated  this  collection,  known  by  the  title 
oi  Homiliae  Catholicae^  to  the  Archbishop  Sigeric,  who  oc- 

*  Aelfric  added  several  other  homilies  in  a  new  edition  of  the  second  part  of  this  col- 
lection. 


I06  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

cupied  the  throne  of  Canterbury  from  990  to  994.  Com 
pared  with  the  Bückling  IIo?nilies,  Aelfric's  sermons  were 
conspicuous  for  deep  and  genuine  theological  learning,  of 
which  he  made  moderate  use,  adjusting  it  to  the  position  of 
his  hearers.  The  church  fathers  served  as  his  models  and 
sources,  above  all  Gregory  and  Beda ;  but  he  ever  retained 
a  certain  originality,  and  in  the  abridgment  as  well  as  the  ex- 
pansion of  his  original,  he  discloses  a  temperate  and  intelli- 
gent mind.  The  following  passage  on  the  birth  of  the  Holy 
Virgin  is  characteristic  for  this  mental  tendency,  which,  with 
the  strictest  devoutness  shunned  many  of  the  extravagances 
to  which  religious  minds  easily  incline : 

What  shall  we  say  in  regard  to  the  time  of  Mary's  birth,  save  that 
she  was  begotten  by  her  father  and  mother  like  other  people,  and  was 
born  on  the  day  that  we  call  sexta  idus  Septembris?  Her  father 
was  called  Joachim  and  her  mother  Anna,  pious  people  according  to 
the  ancient  law ;  but  Ave  will  write  no  more  of  them,  lest  we  fall  into 
some  error.  The  Gospel  itself  for  this  day  is  very  hard  for  laymen 
to  understand ;  it  is,  for  the  most  part,  filled  out  with  the  names  of 
holy  men,  and  these  require  a  very  long  explanation  of  their  spiritual 
meaning.     Hence  we  leave  it  unsaid.* 

Like  his  originals,  and  also  like  his  predecessor,  the  Blick- 
ling  homilist,  Aelfric  gave  preference  to  the  allegorical  inter- 
pretation of  the  biblical  text,  yet  usually  with  that  caution 
which  we  have  praised  in  him, 

Aelfric's  style  is  conspicuous  for  clearness  and  graceful  fin- 
ish. His  language  has  a  more  modern  garb  as  to  form  and 
phrase  than  the  Aelfredian,  and  adapts  itself  more  easily  to 
the  sequence  of  thought.  The  tone  of  his  sermons  is  more 
intelligent  and  temperate  than  that  of  the  Blickling Homilies ; 
nevertheless  it  betrays  warmth  of  feeling  and  a  high  concep- 
tion of  the  preacher's  calling,  and  occasionally  rises  to  stir- 
ring enthusiasm.  Aelfric,  too,  was  convinced  that  the  last 
day  was  imminent,  and  it  was  this  conviction  that  decided 
him  to  write  his  book,  so  that  men,  strengthened  by  "  book- 
learning,"  might  resist  the  temptation  awaiting  them  by  the 
Antichrist.^ 

Aelfric  had  wished,  in  his  English  homilies,  to  supply  a 
need,  not  to  pander  to  indolence;  and  to  make  the  acquisition 
of  Latin  easy  to  beginners,  he  next  wrote  a  Latin  grammar 

•  Hotnilies  of  Aelfric,  Ed.  Thorpe,  II.  466. 
»/^wT,  1.2.  4. 


WRITINGS  OF  AELFRIC.  IO7 

in  English,  an  extract  from  Priscian's  Institufwnes  grammaf- 
icae.  A  Latin -English  glossary,  topically  classified,  was 
meant  to  promote  the  same  object;  as  also  the  so-called 
CoUoqmuin  Aelfrici,  a  Latin  discourse  between  teacher  and 
pupil,  intended  to  impress  upon  the  latter  some  of  the  more 
difficult  words  indispensable  in  conversation.  To  the  Collo- 
quium is  added  an  English  interlinear  version — at  least  in  one 
of  the  two  manuscripts^  thathavecome  to  us. 

A  short  physico-astronomical  treatise  in  English  may  be 
placed  in  the  same  period  as  these  grammatical  writings.  Its 
title  is  sometimes  De  tempori/ms,  sometimes  De  computo,  and 
also  De primo  die  saecu/i,  and  it  treats  the  division  of  the  year, 
the  stars,  and  some  meteorological  phenomena;  it  is  com- 
piled on  the  basis  of  various  writings  of  Beda :  De  tempori- 
tim  ratioue,  De  tempoi'ibus,  De  natura  rerum. 

About  the  year  996,  Aelfric  gave  to  the  English  church, 
particularly  to  the  monasteries,  a  new  collection  of  homifies, 
in  his  Fassiofis  (or  rather  Lives)  of  the  Saints,  Fassiones  sauc- 
toricin^  of  which  but  a  few  have  yet  been  published.  He 
here  makes  almost  constant  use  of  a  kind  of  metre  he  had 
already  frequently  employed  in  the  older  collection.  One 
can  hardly  say  that  he  writes  in  verse.  The  freedom  with 
which  the  law  of  alliteration  is  handled,  and  the  simple  dic- 
tion, that  does  not  rise  above  the  level  of  prose,  makes  the 
designation  rhythmical,  alUterative  prose  most  suitable  for 
this  form.  The  qualities  of  style  in  Aelfric's  alHterative  hom- 
ilies are  of  the  same  sort  as  those  of  his  simple  prose  homilies. 

It  was  chiefly  Ealdorman  Aethelweard  and  his  son  Aeth- 
elmaer  who  had  incited  the  composition  of  the /^<3;^i'/^;/^i"  ^^;/^- 
torum.  We  also  ewe  to  the  former,  Aelfric's  version  of  sev- 
eral books  of  the  Old  Testament,  which  appeared  about  997. 

We  find  already  in  the  Lives  of  the  Saints  two  homilies, 
epitomising  the  Old  Testament  books  of  Kings  and  Macca- 
bees and  both  in  alliterative  form.  Perhaps,  at  about  the 
same  time,  Aelfric  rendered,  likewise  in  alhteration,  the  books 
of  Judges  and  Esther.  The  free,  though  not  alliterative  ver- 
sion of  the  book  of  Job  was  possibly  produced  somewhat 

'In  the  Cotton  MS.  (Tib.  A.  3.),  not  in  the  O.xford  MS.,  which  presents  the  Collo- 
quium as  extended  by  the  later  Aelfric  (Aelfric  Bata.). 

S^me  of  these  had  doubtless  already  appeared  as  independent  writings ;  as  the  very 
exhaustive  Life  of  St.  Martin  after  Sulpicius  Severus  and  the  Passion  of  St.  Ead- 
tnund  after  Abbo  of  Fleury.  There  are  also  homilies  of  different  subject-matter  among 
the  Lives  of  the  Saintf, 


Io8  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

earlier;  it  much  resembles  the  homily  on  Job  in  the  second 
cycle  of  the  Homiliae  catholicae. 

Aelfric  was  now  called  upon  by  Aethelweard  to  translate 
Genesis.  But  he  hesitated  to  execute  this  wish ;  many  features 
in  the  lives  of  the  old  patriarchs,  as  their  polygamy,  seemed 
little  fitted  to  serve  as  examples  to  English  Christians.  But 
when  Aethelweard  told  him  he  already  had  a  translation  of 
Genesis  from  Isaac  to  the  close,  and  that  Aelfric  need  trans- 
late only  the  beginning  of  the  book,  he  reluctantly  undertook 
the  task.  Availing  himself  of  the  earlier  fragmentary  version, 
and  leaving  untouched  certain  peculiarities  of  its  language, 
he  rendered  Genesis  into  good,  vigorous,  flowing  English, 
not  without  some  slight  omissions,  but  in  the  main,  with  fidel- 
ity. The  remaining  books  of  the  Pentateuch  seem  already 
to  have  been  at  least  partially  translated.  And  in  rendering 
extracts  from  these,  Aelfric  again  made  use  of  the  work  of 
his  predecessors.  He  left  the  impress  of  his  own  style  most 
clearly  in  the  version  of  the  fourth  Mosaic  book ;  here  he  is 
as  independent  as  in  the  first  half  of  Genesis.  The  allitera- 
tion, which  he  elsewhere  employs  for  single  passages,  be- 
comes dominant  in  this  fourth  book.  Aelfric  soon  after  added 
an  abridgment  of  the  book  of  Joshua,  likewise  in  alliterative 
form.  This  version  of  the  book  of  Judges  was  evidently  later 
appended  by  another  hand  to  the  whole. 

Aelfric's  fame  had  meanwhile  been  steadily  growing.  Bish- 
op Wulfsige  of  Sherborne  now  commissioned  him  to  compose 
a  pastoral  letter  to  the  priests  of  his  diocese,  who,  it  seems, 
still  resisted  celibacy,  and  needed  a  new  inculcation  of  the 
dogmas  and  precepts  adopted  for  the  priestly  order  at  the 
Council  of  Nice.  Aelfric  probably  performed  his  task  to  the 
satisfaction  of  the  bishop,  certainly  in  a  thorough  and  worthy 
manner,  and  produced  a  work  in  two  parts,  known  by  the 
title  Cano7ies  Aelfrici.  It  first  treats  of  priesthood  and  the 
way  priests  should  live,  and  next  offers  special  liturgical  di- 
rections, and  the  Hke.  As  may  be  imagined,  the  chapter  on 
celibacy  plays  a  leading  part.  The  short  Latin  letter  to 
Bishop  Wulfsige,  with  which  Aelfric  accompanied  his  pastoral, 
is  interesting  and  characteristic  of  the  author. 

Brother  Aelfric  in  humility  to  the  reverend  Bishop  Wulfsinus,  greet- 
ing in  the  Lord.  We  have  gladly  obeyed  thy  command,  but  we  did 
not  venture  to  write  of  the  order  of  bishops;  for  it  is  your  affair  to 
know  how  ye  should  be  an  example  in  right  living  for  all,  and  should 


WRITINGS  OF  AELFRIC.  IO9 

exhort  your  subordinates  by  continued  admonition  to  the  salvation  that 
is  in  Christ  Jesus.  I  say,  nevertheless,  that  ye  should  speak  more 
frequently  to  your  clergy  and  reprove  their  neglect ;  for  the  canonical 
directions  and  the  holy  church  doctrine  are  nearly  destroyed  by 
their  perversity.  Free  then  thy  spirit,  and  tell  them  what  command- 
ments the  priests  and  servants  of  Christ  have  to  keep,  lest  thou  thyself 
go  astray  in  like  manner,  if  thou  art  as  a  mute  dog.  But  we  write 
this  letter  which  follows,  in  English,  as  if  it  were  set  down  from  thy 
lips,  and  thou  hadst  thus  spoken  to  the  clergy  under  thee. 

In  the  year  1005,  the  learned  and  deserving  priest  was  in- 
stalled as  abbot  of  the  convent  of  Eynsham  in  Oxfordshire. 
The  monastery  was  most  richly  endowed  by  Aethelmasr,  who 
had  peopled  it  with  Benedictines  so  that  it  was  regarded  as 
a  creation  of  that  noble  man.  Aethelmaer  himself  spent  a 
large  part  of  his  later  life  in  Eynsham,  and  through  him  Ael- 
fric  probably  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  number  of  men  of 
note  in  the  vicinity.  These  induced  him  to  undertake  new 
v/orks,  and  were  able,  on  their  part,  to  bring  powerful  influ- 
ence to  bear  in  the  realisation  of  his  ideas.  Among  them 
were  Wulfgeat  of  Ylmandune  (Ilmingdon  on  the  boundary 
between  the  counties  of  Warwick  and  Gloucester),  Sigwerd 
of  Easthealon  in  Oxfordshire,  and  Sigeferth.^ 

To  Wulfgeat  he  addressed  a  long  epistle,  chiefly  treating, 
besides  some  points  of  dogma,  the  duty  of  forgiveness.  He 
wrote  a  letter  to  Sigeferth  "on  the  chastity  which  ordained 
men  should  maintain  " :  the  idea  that  lay  very  close  to  his 
heart,  and  which  he  defended,  when  he  could,  though  his 
views  were  less  rigid  than  those  of  Dunstan  and  Aethelwold, 
and  did  not  bluntly  disdain  every  concession  or  compro- 
mise. Finally  he  directed  his  tract  De  veteri  et  de  novo  testa- 
fnento  to  Sigwerd.  This  is  a  popular  introduction  to  both 
Testaments,  showing  traces  of  Augustine's,  and  particularly 
of  Isidore's  influence,  and  mainly  intended  to  instruct  the 
laity,  who  are  exhorted  to  read  those  parts  of  the  Holy 
Scriptures  that  had  been  translated  into  English. 

Aelfric,  at  the  beginning  of  his  work  as  abbot,  had  early 
made  an  extract  from  Aethelwold's  version  of  the  Benedict- 
ine rule,  for  the  monks  of  Eynsham.  Not  long  after,  he 
wrought  a  beautiful  monument  to  his  beloved  teacher,  whose 
work  he  continued;  this  was  the  Latin  sketch  Vita  Ethel- 
woldi^  dedicated  to   Bishop   Kenulf  of   Winchester.      His 

I  Wulfgeat,  Sigwerd,  and  probably  Sigeferth,  were,  like  Aethelmser,  royal  thegns. 


no  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

ceaseless  activity  yielded  several  other  writings:  a  tract  on 
the  sevenfold  gift  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  a  translation  of  the 
rule  of  St.  Basil,  several  homilies,  and  above  all,  a  new  pas- 
toral letter,  which  he  wrote  about  the  year  1014,  at  the  com- 
mand of  Archbishop  Wulfstan  of  York.  This  letter  is 
called  Sermo  ad  Sacej'dofes,  and  strikes  one  like  a  second, 
revised  and  enlarged  edition  of  that  written  for  Wulfsige.^ 
It  contains  the  same  directions  and  the  same  ideas,  but 
somewhat  amplified,  otherwise  arranged,  and  more  elabo- 
rately supported. 

So  far  as  we  can  follow  the  busy  career  of  Aelfric,  he  was 
always  the  same  in  his  aims,  his  ideas,  and  the  manner  of 
bringing  them  into  practice.  His  knowledge  might  increase, 
his  arguments  might  gain  depth  and  stringency,  but  the  es- 
sence of  his  nature,  as  of  his  writings,  remained  the  same. 
He  appears  to  us  from  the  beginning  a  finished,  completely 
developed  personality.  Even  his  style  is  as  lucid,  fluent,  and 
upon  occasion  as  forcible,  in  the  first  collection  of  homilies 
as  in  his  latest  writings,  although  his  command  of  language 
and  of  alliteration  increased  as  time  went  on.  In  resfard  to 
his  art,  it  was  perhaps  unfortunate  that  Aelfric  yielded  so 
early  to  the  allurement  of  alliteration,  which  never  lost  its 
hold  upon  him.  The  writings  of  the  second  period,  almost 
without  exception,  even  including  the  rule  of  St.  Basil  and 
the  introduction  to  the  Old  and  New  Testaments,  appear 
with  this  adornment.  The  prose  expression  certainly  did  not 
gain  precision  by  this. 

The  year  of  Aelfric's  death  is  unknown.  His  entire  life 
is  contained  in  his  works,  and  the  former  was  early  forgotten 
in  view  of  the  latter,  from  which  proceeded  a  most  far-reach- 
ing influence. 

The  English  clergy  was  incited  and  enabled  by  Aelfric  to 
elevate  the  religious  culture  of  the  people.  Through  his 
efforts  there  began  anew  to  develop  a  certain  intellectual  and 
literary  activity  in  the  English  church,  an  activity  fostered 
mostly  by  the  Benedictines.  The  period  of  literary  produc- 
tion opened  by  Aelfric  was,  it  is  true,  more  practical  and 
popular  than  scholarly  in  character.  It  brought  to  light 
chiefly  homihes,  lives  of  the  saints,  translations,  adaptations 

'  This  second  pastoral  letter  ^is  also  in  two  parts,  and  is  called  dua-:  rfistouie  by 
Aelfric  himself.  First  written  in  Latin,  it  was  turned  into  English  at  Wulfstan's  com 
mand. 


WULFSTAN.  1 1 1 

of  books  on  church  chronology,  of  benedictw?ialia^  and  of 
service-books.  But  their  effect  upon  the  people  and  their 
language  was  all  the  more  direct  on  this  account.  The  mere 
existence  of  this  literature  is  a  proof  that  the  English  clergy 
at  the  time  of  the  Conquest  were  neither  so  ignorant  nor  so 
idle  as  their  opponents  liked  to  represent  them. 

Still  in  Aelfric's  hfetime,  we  meet  another  notable  preacher, 
who  was  probably  moved  by  the  great  abbot  to  literary  pro- 
duction. This  is  the  Wulfstan  (Lupus)  already  mentioned, 
who  was  archbishop  of  York  from  1002  to  1023,  and  was  at 
the  same  time  bishop  of  Worcester  up  to  10 16.  We  have, 
besides  an  epistle  to  the  people  of  his  church-province,  a 
number  of  homilies  from  Wulfstan's  pen,  amounting,  so  far 
as  counted,  to  fifty-three.  Only  one  of  them  has,  as  yet, 
been  published.^  It  dates  from  the  year  1012,  a  time  when 
the  surfferings  of  the  English  people  under  the  scourge  of  the 
Danish  invasion  had  reached  their  summit.  The  homilist, 
with  deep  feeling,  laments  the  irreligion  and  immoral  lives 
of  the  people,  as  the  cause  of  their  sorrows,  and  proclaims 
the  greater  punishment  that  impends,  the  coming  of  Anti- 
christ, the  end  of  the  world.  All  this  is  presented  with  less 
literary  finish  and  less  art  than  by  Aelfric ;  yet  with  its  plain 
popular  tone,  it  is  rich  in  life  and  colour. 

Aelfric  had  rendered  in  the  English  language  a  part  of  the 
Old  Testament,  and,  in  his  homilies,  had  given  at  least  the 
pericopes  from  the  New,  and  it  was  not  long  before  a  com- 
plete translation  of  the  Gospels  appeared.  Translators  also 
directed  their  industry  to  writings  of  more  questionable 
value,  as  the  so-called  Evangelium  Nicodemi,  which  was 
probably  turned  into  English  in  the  first  half  of  the  eleventh 
century. 

A  knowledge  of  the  Latin  language  had  been  unquestion- 
ably advanced  and  extended  by  the  efforts  of  Aethelwold 
and  Aelfric.  Toward  the  close  of  the  tenth  century,  at- 
tempts in  Latin  became  more  frequent.  A  more  exact 
knowledge  of  classical  literature,  and  with  it  a  better  Latin 
style,  were,  it  is  true,  not  attained  until  the  period  after  the 
Conquest,  and  with  the  energetic  cooperation  of  the  Nor- 
mans.    What  Aethelwold  and  Aelfric  themselves  produced, 

1  Sermo  Lupi  ad  A  nglos  qjiando  Dani  ma.xhne  perseaiti  sunt  eos.     This  sermon 
was  delivered  four  years  before  Aethelred's  death. 


112  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

and  what  they  inspired  in  others  was  not,  however,  without 
momeot  for  the  renaissance  movement  of  the  twelfth  cent- 
ury. We  may  mention,  for  example,  the  later  Aelfric  with 
the  surname  Bata,  who  made  additions  to  the  Colloquiiun  of 
his  teacher,  and  the  monk  and  cantor  of  Winchester,  Wuls- 
tan,  a  pupil  of  Aethehvold,  who  wrote  a  book  De  tononcm 
harmonia,  put  the  Miracula  sancti  Swithu?n,  by  Lantferth  of 
the  same  school,  into  hexameters,  sang  in  distichs  ^  the  re- 
building of  his  church,  and  remodelled  the  Vita  Ethelwoldi, 
which  thus  gained  litde  save  a  few  flowers  of  speech. 

The  intrusion  of  Latin  is  also  noticeable  in  the  national 
chronicles.  The  chronicle  of  Fabius  Quaestor  Ethelwerdus, 
whose  identity  with  Aelfric's  patron,  Ealdorman  Aethel- 
weard,  seems  to  be  well  established,  was  the  first  of  a  series 
of  attempts  to  relate  more  broadly  in  Latin,  English  history, 
which  Beda  had  treated  with  special  reference  to  ecclesias- 
tical affairs,  and  Asser,  in  the  biographical  sense.  Drawn  in 
the  main  from  the  Winchester  Ajuials^  and  having  little  origi- 
nality, Aethelweard's  chronicle  follows  the  threads  of  the  nar- 
rative down  to  Eadgar's  death,  the  point  where  we  dropped 
our  consideration  of  the  writing  of  English  annals  in  the 
vernacular. 

The  chief  seat  of  this  annal-writing  had  hitherto  been  at 
Winchester.  But  the  historiographic  ascendency  of  this  city 
was  now  past.  Aethehvold  and  his  successors  seem  to  have 
taken  httle  interest  in  the  continuation  of  this  national  work. 
A  brief  entry  for  the  year  looi  and  a  few  meagre  annals  to 
fill  out  foregoing  space  was  the  last  matter  added  in  Win- 
chester to  the  earlier  records.  The  Parker  manuscript  seems 
to  have  passed  to  Canterbury  not  long  afterward.  Other  ec- 
clesiastical centres  became  prominent :  Canterbury,  Worces- 
ter, Abingdon.  Work  in  Canterbury  was  at  first  confined  to 
the  multiplication  of  the  Winchester  Annals.  During  the 
first  half  of  the  eleventh  century,  two  editions  of  them  were 
there  copied,  one  of  which  extends  to  997,  the  other  to  looi ; 
but  at  the  same  time  arose  a  truly  productive  activity  in 
Worcester.  As  early  as  the  time  of  Aelfred  the  Great,  North- 
umbrian and  Mercian  annals  had  been  here  collected  (per- 
haps by  Werferth's  influence),  and  historical  records  had,  as 

'  Wulstan  inserted  this  poem  into  the  introduction  to  the  Miracula,  and  likewise  ia 
the  Vita  EtJulwoldi, 


ENGLISH  ANNALS.  II3 

it  appears,  been  carried  through  the  tenth  century,  though 
with  breaks  of  considerable  length.  About  the  year  1016,  a 
great  compilation  was  instituted,  in  which  the  Winchester  An- 
nals  were  augmented  by  local  matter,  and  continued  to  the 
death  of  the  second  Aethelred.  The  reign  of  the  great  Cnut 
(1016-1035)  gave  to  England  a  long-wanting  repose,  but  it 
was  little  favourable  to  the  national  historiography.  Yet  the 
rule  of  the  Danish  king  upon  the  island  in  no  respect  involved 
a  suppression  of  the  English  element,  which,  on  the  contrary, 
continued  to  assimilate  the  blood-related  Norse  element.  The 
official  language  was  also  under  Cnut  the  West-Saxon.  In 
this  dialect  he  promulgated  his  laws,  which  adjusted  them- 
selves in  the  main  to  those  already  long  in  force,  and  did  not 
annul  West-Saxon,  Mercian,  or  Danish  law.  As  the  most 
cultivated  of  the  lands  united  under  Cnut's  sceptre,  England 
became  conspicuous  in  the  north,  and  drew  advantages  from 
her  widened  connections  which  proved  fruitful  for  the  future 
of  her  commerce.  But  the  reign  of  Cnut  was  nevertheless 
a  period  of  alien  rule,  of  humiliation,  which  those  must  have 
felt  most  deeply  upon  whose  spirit  chronicle  or  poetry  had 
most  vividly  impressed  the  picture  of  the  glorious  times  of 
an  Eadweard,  Aethelstan,  Eadmund,  or  Eadgar.  The  na- 
tional feeling  of  the  English  was  roused  to  a  higher  pitch  un- 
der Eadweard  the  Confessor  (i 042-1 065),  the  last  scion  of 
the  ancient  race  of  native  princes.  The  son  of  Aethelred 
and  Emma,  it  is  true,  had  been  brought  up  among  his  ma- 
ternal relatives  at  the  Norman  court,  and  had  grown  fond  of 
French  manners  and  of  the  French  language.  He  sur- 
rounded the  English  throne  with  French  favourites,  and  gave 
up  his  court  to  their  influences.  But  it  was  precisely  in  this 
first  direct  contact  with  the  Romance  element  that  the  English 
nation  became  truly  conscious  of  its  own  individual  being, 
and  that  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  grew  strong.  The 
same  spirit  that  animated  the  finally  victorious  national  party, 
that  stirred  a  Godwin  and  a  Harold,  filled  also  the  annalist 
of  Worcester,  who  wrote  in  warm  and  graphic  language  of 
the  times  of  King  Eadweard,  of  Godwin's  banishment,  and 
his  return.  Historical  pursuits  also  received  a  fresh  impulse 
in  Abingdon,  where  a  new  recension  of  the  English  Atmals 
was  produced  about  1046.  It  was  based  upon  a  transcript 
of  the  Winchester  recension  made  at  Canterbury  and  extend- 

I 


114  BEFORE  THE  CONQUEST. 

ing  to  997,  and  upon  a  copy  of  the  Worcester  Annals,  but 
it  was  enlarged  with  original  matter.  Continued  to  1056, 
annalistic  activity  seems  then  to  have  slumbered  in  Abing- 
don for  some  years.  It  awoke  again  under  King  Harold ; 
his  campaign  against  Harold  Hardrada  and  his  victory  at 
Stamford  Bridge  are  the  last  events  described  in  the  Abing- 
don chronicle.  The  Worcester  annalists  continued  their  nar- 
rative, telling  of  William  the  Conqueror,  and  the  great  and 
decisive  battle  that  marks  the  close  of  this  period. 

About  the  time  when  the  events  impended  that  were  to 
direct  the  history,  language,  and  literature  of  England  into 
quite  new  channels,  we  see  the  national  idea  assert  itself 
more  powerfully  than  ever  before  in  the  English  people,  who 
boldly  expressed  their  unity  and  independence  in  choosing 
Harold  for  their  king.  The  English  language  had  by  that 
time  reached  a  high  degree  of  culture  and  of  aptitude  for 
the  purposes  of  prose  writing.  Compared  with  former  epochs, 
it  had  gained  great  flexibility  and  lightness  of  movement. 
The  eloquence  of  the  pulpit  and  the  literature  of  theology  in 
general  were  in  full  florescence.  National  historiography 
again  began  to  show  signs  of  vigorous  life.  The  great  age 
of  poetry  was  indeed  past;  but  it  was  not  impossible  that  a 
new  poetical  epoch  was  near.  New  forms  were  developing 
in  the  popular  poetry,  and  new  ideas  were  beginning  to  spread. 
Even  the  song  of  Byrhtnoth' s  Death,  which  breathes  the 
spirit  of  the  Teutonic  hero-age,  as  embodied  in  the  institu- 
tion of  thegnhood,  gives  a  more  distinct  expression  of  Chris- 
tian views  than  is  to  be  found  in  the  earlier  epic.  The  an- 
tagonism between  the  Christian  and  the  Pagan,  the  trust  in 
the  Christian  God,  to  which  the  French  epos  largely  owes  its 
peculiar  character,  find  in  the  poem  of  Byrhttioth  emphatic 
utterance,  though  they  are  not  indeed  the  impelling  principle 
of  the  poem,  and  though,  in  the  Englisli  song,  there  is  quite 
lacking  the  idea  of  a  historical  mission  of  the  nation  to  main- 
tain and  to  extend  the  Church  and  Christendom.  And  new 
material,  a  material  which  the  romantic  Middle  Age  loved 
to  shape  and  to  adorn,  had  found  access  to  English  Hterature. 
The  Late  Greek  romance  of  Apollofiiiis  of  Tyre,  which  had 
N^ost  probably  come  to  England  in  a  Latin  translation,  ^  had 

'  The  oldest  of  the  forms  of  the  romance  now  accessible,  also  wears  the  garb  of  the 
Latin  language. 


CHIVALRY  PREFIGURED.  1 1  5 

already  been  translated  into  flowing  English  by  a  dexterous 
pen.     It  was  a  story  full  of  soft  sentimentality  and  startling, 
ill-connected  adventures;  yet  it  was  not  without  exciting 
situations  and  suggestive  motives,  which  could  even  at  the 
end  of  his  career,  inspire  a  Shakspere  with  some  of  his  finest 
[:  scenes.     Its  translation  now  disclosed  a  strange,  new  world 
I  to  men  who  had  been  wont  to  delight  in  the  songs  of  Beowulf, 
I  of  Aethelstan,  and  of  Byrhtnoth,  a  world  in  which  all  things 
were  softer  and  more  full  of  grace,  but  of  smaller  mould  than 
nat  home.     The  Alexander  saga  had  likewise  just  entered 
1  English  territory,  in  a  Letter  of  Alexajider  to  Aristotle^  and 
\  men  read  with  amazement  of  the  Wonders  of  the  Orient? 
Thus,  even  before  the  Norman  Conquest,  there  appeared 
in  England  phenomena  presaging  the  chivalrous,  romantic  X 
Middle  Age.      Germs  of  a  development  according  to  the 
spirit  of  this  age  existed;  new  germs  would  have  been  blown 
hither  from  south  and  east;  and  who  will  say  that  this  soil 
could  not  have  borne  new  fruit,  even  if  the  Norman  con- 
queror had  not  sown  it  with  new  seed  ?     It  is  easy  to  dis- 
cover in  the  politics  and  social  condition  of  the  English  realm 
under  Eadweard  and  Harold,  the  causes  which  must  neces- 
sarily have  led  to  its  ruin:  the  growing  power  of  land  pro- 
prietorship, the  decline  of  the  class  of  freemen,  the  formation 
of  the  new  great  earlships.     It  would  be  equally  easy  to 
point  out  the  obstacles  in  the  intellectual  life  of  the  nation 
which  opposed  a  close  blending  of  the  old  national  thought 
with  the  ideas  that  began  to  rule  the  world  in  the  eleventh 
century.     Such  reflections,  however,  are  no  less  idle  than 
those  which,  in  defiance  of  history,  seek  to  prove  the  inter- 
nal vitality  of  what  has  been  destroyed  by  external  force. 
History  is  ever  right,  and  needs  no  advocate. 

-\^       1  Epistola  A  lexandri  ad  magistrtitn  suutit  A  ristotelem  de  situ  Indiae.      Narra- 
'    tiuncnlae  a7iglice  coiiscriptae,  Ed.  T.O.  Cockayne,  p.  i.    Cf.  Anglia,  IV.  139. 
"ih         '  De  rebus  m  Oriente  mirabilibus.     Ibid.,  p.  33. 


BOOK   II. 

THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 


Tant  ont  li  conteor  conto 
Et  li  fableor  tant  fabl^ 
Por  lor  contes  ambeleter 
Que  tot  ont  feit  fables  sanbler. 

Wace. 


I. 

After  the  close  of  the  nmth  century,  the  Normans  had  set- 
tled on  the  north  coast  of  France,  on  both  sides  of  the  Seine. 
In  the  year  912,  their  leader  Hrolf  (Rolf,  Rollo),  took  in 
fief  the  terra  Northma7i7ioriim  of  King  Charles  the  Simple, 
married  his  liege-lord's  daughter,  and  was  baptised.  Thus 
Normandy,  enlarged  in  the  course  of  time  by  the  Bessin  and 
the  Cotentin,  became  a  French  vassal  state  of  much  greater 
political  independence,  but  still  less  imbued  with  national 
colour  than  were  the  Danish  districts  in  England.  How  cos- 
mopolitan this  Norse  pirate-people,  with  its  various  foreign 
components,  really  was,  first  appeared  in  the  presence  of  a 
culture,  not  only  far  superior  to  its  own,  but  which,  like  the 
language  forming  its  medium,  was  entirely  foreign  to  it. 
Happy  in  lands  and  possessions,  the  Normans  married 
French  women,  and  to  these  naturally  fell  the  training  of 
their  children.  Hence  everything  became  Christian  and 
French  among  them  in  an  incredibly  short  time.  In  the 
capital  of  the  dukedom,  Rouen,  the  language  of  the  fathers 
had  been  forgotten  as  early  as  the  reign  of  William  Long- 
sword,  the  son  of  Hrolf.  The  men  of  later  generations  re- 
tained only  an  obscure  remembrance  of  the  origin  of  their 
people.  The  Norman  race  in  France  in  the  eleventh  cent- 
ury was  not  more  distinct  from  the  other  population  of 
northern  Gaul  than  the  people  of  one  province  generally 
differed  from  those  of  another. 

Those  traits,  however,  which  made  them  distinguished 
were  characteristic  of  the  youth  as  well  as  the  childhood  of 
the  race.  A  fresh  glow  of  life  and  energy  pervaded  all  their 
undertakings.  They  knew  of  no  slackness ;  everything  was 
done  with  ardour  and  thoroughness.  They  united,  in  rare 
degree,  the  fire  of  enthusiasm  with  a  clear  practical  insight, 
with  a  fine  instinct  for  the  vital  and  future-building  forces  of 

119 


I20  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

the  time.  The  political  organisation  of  their  dukedom  early 
attested  that  fitness  for  the  organisation  of  states  and  for  leg- 
islation which  was  to  be  later  proved  in  larger  tasks.  In 
religion  they  adopted  the  strictest  form  of  the  orthodoxy  of 
the  time.  Monachism  found  in  Normandy  the  most  favour- 
able soil  for  its  growth.  A  multitude  of  churches  and  con- 
vents arose,  and  united  with  them  were  schools  whose  fame 
soon  sounded  far  and  wide.  The  opening  of  the  cloister 
school  of  Le  Bee  in  1046,  by  Lanfranc  of  Pavia,  was  of  de- 
cided moment  for  the  rise  of  learning  in  Normandy.  Among 
the  many  pupils  whom  the  fame  of  the  great  theologian  drew 
thither,  appeared  one  who  was  to  become  his  teacher's  co- 
equal successor,  Anselm  of  Aosta.  The  pious  and  profound 
thinker,  whose  bold  speculations  opened  a  new  epoch  in 
mediaeval  scholastic  philosophy,  now  took  his  place  beside 
the  opponent  of  Berengar  of  Tours,  the  learned  founder  of 
Rome's  domination  in  the  field  of  dogma. 

The  ancient  Norman  impulse  of  migration  and  adventure 
found  satisfaction  in  pilgrimages  and  in  campaigns  made  by 
single  bands  of  young  Normans,  either  in  the  service  of 
some  foreign  prince,  or  upon  their  own  account  in  the  retinue 
of  a  native  noble.  The  pilgrims  were  sometimes  warriors  as 
well,  and  the  campaigns  often  had  reHgious  aims.  Wher- 
ever the  struggle  against  the  enemy  of  Christianity,  against 
the  Moors  and  Arabs,  was  waged,  in  Spain,  in  Sicily,  in  Apu- 
lia and  Calabria,  the  Normans  stood  in  the  van  and  dis- 
tinguished themselves  for  bravery  and  adroitness.  They 
succeeded  by  their  boldness  and  craftiness  in  conquering  all 
of  Lower  Italy,  and  afterwards  also  Sicily.  It  was  in  Italy 
that  the  remarkable  alliance  between  the  papacy  and  the 
Normans  was  made  which  left  its  impress  upon  the  history 
of  the  eleventh  century,  and  had  the  most  far-reaching  con- 
sequences. 

Thus  the  Normans  were,  in  the  middle  of  the  eleventh 
century,  at  the  head  of  western  nations,  famous  for  martial 
virtue  and  diplomatic  skill ;  zealous  sons  of  the  church,  pil- 
lars of  the  papacy,  intermediaries  of  the  French  element,  in 
whose  formation  they  had  been  most  influential;  by  their 
ideas,  manners,  and  entire  culture,  the  first  representatives 
of  chivalry,  the  first  to  realise  that  spirit  which,  not  without 
their  continued  cooperation,  was  to  yield  at  the  close  of  the 
century  its  full  results  in  the  crusades. 


RESULTS  OF  THE  CONQUEST.  121 

And  it  was  in  the  light  of  a  crusade  that  Duke  William, 
that  mighty  ruler,  of  iron  will  and  exhaustless  resources, 
made  appear  his  expedition  against  England.  He  prevailed 
upon  Rome  to  bless  his  undertaking,  her  interests  again  co- 
inciding with  those  of  the  Norman,  and  help  poured  in  upon 
him  from  all  sides.  His  army  was  admirably  equipped,  and 
its  Norman  nucleus  was  strengthened  by  troops  from  the 
most  diverse  quarters  of  France,  and  from  the  adjacent 
countries.  He  crossed  the  Channel,  landed,  and  marched 
to  Hastings.  No  sooner  had  Harold,  with  great  efforts,  put 
down  his  northern  foe,  than  he  heard  of  William's  landing, 
and  summoning  all  his  forces,  he  threw  himself  in  the  way 
of  his  new  enemy.  After  a  long  and  bloody  struggle  on  the 
hills  of  Senlac,  the  quarrel  was  decided  by  Harold's  death 
and  the  final  overthrow  of  his  army ;  and  the  groundwork 
was  laid  for  the  conquest  of  England,  which  the  year  1070 
saw  accomplished. 

After  the  introduction  of  Christianity,  no  event  was  so  de- 
cisive in  the  development  of  the  English  nation  as  this  con- 
quest ;  its  importance  far  surpassed  that  of  a  change  of  dy- 
nasty. 

Through  it  England  received  a  foreign  aristocracy,  foreign 
judges  and  officials,  foreign  bishops  and  abbots,  and  in  large 
part,  foreign  monks  in  her  cloisters.  A  new  spirit  penetrated 
the  English  polity,  the  spirit  of  a  Romanic  feudal  state; 
though  it  here  found  an  effective  barrier  in  the  national  in- 
stitutions, spared  when  possible,  and  above  all  in  the  power 
of  a  kingship,  to  which  not  only  the  tenants-in-chief,  but 
every  freeman  in  the  realm  had  to  swear  fealty.  A  foreign 
language  was  spoken  at  the  court  and  the  castles  of  barons 
and  knights.  It  found  its  way  into  the  judicial  courts,  and 
gradually  into  the  Great  Council,  as  the  national  assembly 
grew  from  an  English  into  a  Norman  body.  Foreign  man- 
ners became  prevalent  in  the  higher  circles.  Norman  build- 
ings rose  everywhere.  A  Norman-French  literature  began 
to  spring  up  in  England. 

The  decisive  battle  of  the  year  1066,  symbolical  as  it  was 
in  its  progress  and  issue,  marks  a  turning-point  in  Eng- 
lish, and  even  in  European  history.  From  the  deeds  of 
Harold  and  his  true  followers  comes  a  glimmer,  as  of  the 
splendid  sunset  of  the  ancient  Teutonic  hero-age.      Upon 


122  THE    TRANSITION    PERTOD. 

the  Normans  falls  the  dawning^  H2:ht  of  the  Romantic  Middle 
Age,  which  now  began  to  conquer  the  Teutonic  realm  of 
culture. 

II. 

\Vlien  the  Normans  went  into  battle  at  Senlac,  they  struck 
up  the  So?ig  of  Rola?id.     It  was  by  no  chance,  then,  that  the 
oldest  form  of  this  most  venerable  and  powerful  of  all  French 
poems  comes  to  us  in  an  Anglo-Norman  manuscript.     The 
Norman  race  had  become  so  firmly  imbued  with  the  PVench 
nationality  that  the  memories,  living  chiefly  in  the  Isle  de 
France,  of  the  former  greatness  of  the  Frankish  empire  and 
the  sagas  of  Charlemagne  and  Roland,  had  become  totally 
assimilated  by  them;  and  these  sagas  formed  the  basis  of  the 
French  national  epos.     But  this  was  not  all.     A  positive  and 
powerful  influence  for  the  development  ofthat  epos  had  pro- 
ceeded fi'om  the  Normans.     Who  but  they  had  reanimated 
the  ideas  pervading  those  ancient  traditions,  and  made  them 
reflect  the  consciousness  of  the  present :  the  idea  of  a  hero- 
ism fighting  in  the  service  of  God  and  the  church,  the  idea 
of  the  great  mission  of  the  Franks?     And  again  had  not  the 
Normans  aided  in  the  dispossession  of  the  ancient  Carlo vin- 
gians  by  a  new  and  purely  French  dynasty  ?     This  change 
of  dynasty  plainly  betokened  that  a  new  nation  had  sprung 
from  Roman-Celtic  and  Teutonic  elements,  and  allowed  the 
recollection  of  the  original  antagonism  between  those  ele- 
ments to  disappear.     Thus  the  Norman  race  assisted  at  the 
birth  of  the  French  national  consciousness,  and  of  its  first 
utterance,  the  national  epos. 

The  So7ig  of  Roland  is  the  work  of  a  people,  more  skilled 
in  the  poesy  of  the  deed  than  the  word.  How  reserved  and 
sober  is  its  manner,  disdaining  every  ornament !  But  how 
powerful  is  the  conception  of  the  whole,  how  symmetrical 
and  finished,  how  illumined  in  every  part  by  the  dominant 
idea,  is  the  composition !  Roland,  the  true  vassal  of  his  il- 
lustrious uncle,  the  rock  of  the  Christian  cause,  which  is  also 
the  cause  of  France,  the  knight  without  fear  and  without  re- 
proach, in  whom  the  French  nation  perceived  the  ideal  type 
of  its  own  being,  falls  a  sacrifice  to  foul  treason  and  his  own 
too  high  sense  of  honour.  But  his  death  is  bloodily  avenged; 
the  enemies  of  the  faith  are  completely  overthrown,  and  the 


SONG  OF  ROLAND.  12^ 

cause  which  he  has  served  through  life  is  triumphant  in  spite 
of  the  hero's  downfall,  indeed  through  his  downfall. 

To  give  an  idea  of  the  spirit  and  style  of  this  poem,  we 
select  the  following  passage,  whose  effect  is  not  impaired  by 
having  been  often  quoted  in  histories  of  literature.  It  con- 
cerns the  death  of  Roland : 

Count  Roland  lay  under  a  pine  tree,  his  face  turned  toward  Spain. 
Many  things  there  came  to  his  remembrance :  the  many  lands  the  hero 
had  conquered,  sweet  France,  the  men  of  his  kindred,  Charlemagne, 
his  liege-lord,  who  reared  him.  Then  he  cannot  keep  back  tears  and 
sighs.  But  he  \vould  also  not  forget  himself;  he  confesses  his  guilt 
and  implores  God's  mercy:  "Truth  of  the  Father  which  never  de- 
ceived, which  awakened  St.  Lazarus  from  death,  and  saved  Daniel  from 
the  lions,  save  my  soul  from  all  perils  that  threaten  it  on  account  of 
the  sins  that  I  have  committed  in  my  life."  He  offered  to  God  his 
right  glove ;  St.  Gabriel  received  it  from  his  hand.  He  held  his  head 
bowed  upon  his  arm  ;  with  his  hands  folded  he  passed  away.  God 
sent  him  his  cherubim  and  St.  Michael  del  Peril;  with  them  came  St. 
Gabriel ;  they  bear  the  Count's  soul  into  Paradise.^ 

Like  an  Old  German  hero,  Roland  thinks  in  death  of  his 
victories,  of  his  liege-lord,  of  his  kindred ;  no  tender  feeling 
for  the  forsaken  loved  one  intrudes,  for  Alda,  who  will  not 
survive  his  fall.  But  he  is  mindful  of  his  eternal  welfare  and 
confesses  his  sins;  he  dies  a  vassal,  a  champion  of  God,  who 
takes  him  to  himself.  The  Christian  element  has  formed 
that  close  union  with  the  Teutonic  hero-spirit,  which  is  char- 
acteristic of  the  French  epos  and  the  French  nation.  Such 
a  blending  was  possible  only  in  a  people  which,  like  the  West- 
Franks  and  the  Normans,  had  quite  forgotten  its  pagan  past 
together  with  its  mother  tongue,  and  which,  with  new  ele- 
ments, had  moulded  a  new  nationality. 

This  is  a  branch  of  the  Neo-Latin  family,  whose  spirit  is 
stamped  almost  more  clearly  in  the  form  than  in  the  contents 
of  its  epos.  The  verse  does  not  depend  upon  those  syllables 
which,  in  virtue  of  their  significance,  are  put  forth  with  greater 
emphasis,  but  all  syllables  seem  of  nearly  equal  value,  and 
the  verse  grows  as  if  formed  of  rhythmical  atoms,  whose 
number  determines  its  character.  Their  order  affects  it  only 
in  so  far  as  the  arsis  at  the  end  of  the  verse  and  in  the  caesura 
requires  an  accented  syllable.  Instead  of  alliteration,  which 
makes  words  and  ideas  conspicuous,  we  have  end-rhyme  in 
its  original  form,  involving  only  the  vowel-sounds  (assonance), 

>  ChaTtson  de  Roland^  Ed.  Theodor  Müller,  v.  2375-2396. 


124  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

by  means  of  which  the  unity  of  each  line  is  indicated,  and 
the  single  lines  are  joined  in  the  unity  of  larger  rhythmical 
systems.  These  systems  are  as  yet  exceedingly  simple;  con- 
tinuous assonance  combines  an  unhmited  number  of  ten- 
syllabled  Hues  into  a  whole,  complete  and  distinct  in  matter 
as  well  as  form. 

Effects  in  style  are  produced  with  equally  simple  means. 
If  this  kind  of  epic  diction  employs  appositions  and  epithets 
more  profusely  than  prose  speech — and  this  is  true  only 
within  limits, — yet  these  appositions  and  epithets  are  in  them- 
selves no  more  sensuous  or  figurative  than  those  of  daily 
life,  and  there  is  nothing  enigmatical  or  poetical  about  them. 
Upon  the  whole,  images  or  metaphors  occur  very  rarely, 
and  but  one  simile  has  been  discovered  in  the  entire  Song  of 
Roland.  The  construction  is  little  involved,  and  is  quite 
unadapted  to  the  expression  of  a  complex  thought-texture. 
One  brief  sentence  simply  follows  another  without  inter- 
weaving, and  often  without  connection.  Words  are  arranged 
with  more  freedom  than  in  the  later  French,  but  this  freedom 
is  sufficiently  limited  to  make  the  arrangement  always  lucid. 

If  then  the  poet  attains  such  grand  effects  with  such  hum- 
ble means,  it  is  because  his  soul  is  filled  with  grand  ideas  and 
feelings,  because  he  sees  with  great  clearness  and  precision 
the  pictures  and  scenes  he  would  portray,  because  he  is  able 
to  retain  mentally  his  survey  of  both  the  objective  and  sub- 
jective order  of  events,  finally  because  he  is  content  with  the 
simplest  expression.  Hence  the  animation  and  vividness  of 
his  style,  which  sometimes  inspires,  sometimes  moves  and 
thrills  us;  hence  his  ability  to  keep  distinct  the  true  sequence 
of  things,  to  grade  the  themes  according  to  their  impor- 
tance, and  thus  to  hold  our  interest  and  to  increase  it.  His 
field  of  view  is  indeed  limited,  and  his  aesthetic,  as  well  as 
his  ethical  sense  is  one-sided.  He  has  not  learned  to  differ- 
entiate similar  situations  by  arts  of  presentation;  he  rises  to 
true  power  only  when  the  action  reaches  a  climax.  It  is  the 
poetry  of  a  gifted,  but  still  slightly  developed  people,  whose 
soul  is  entirely  filled  by  a  few  great  ideas  and  glows  for  these 
ideas  with  youthful  fire. 

The  spirit  that  had  created  the  Song  of  Roland  g2.v^  birth 
to  the  crusades.  Under  the  influence  of  the  revolution  in 
thought  and  manners  arising  from  the  crusades,  the  national 


THE  FRENCH  EPOS. 


"5 


epic  of  the  French  entered  a  new  epoch  of  growth  and  propa- 
gation. An  enlarged  cuhure  had  more  sharply  drawn  the 
hnes  separating  the  higher  classes  from  the  masses;  a  chiv- 
alrous and  courtly  poetry  began  to  flourish,  and  the  popular 
song  could  not  have  escaped  speedy  deterioration  and  decay, 
had  not  the  caste  of  wandering  players  and  singers,  the  j(7/ig- 
Idurs,  taken  it  up,  and,  as  a  medium  between  the  various 
classes  of  society,  continued  the  traditions  of  the  national 
epos.  Fostered  by  the  jongleurs,  the  epos  gained  in  scope 
and  diversity,  in  wealth  of  character  and  situations,  what  it 
lost  in  intrinsic  value.  There  arose  a  great  number  of  inde- 
pendent poems,  whose  germs  had  already  existed  in  the 
popular  song,  but  which  now  received  a  complete  epic  mount- 
ing and  decoration.  The  memory  of  the  great  national  con- 
flict, lasting  for  centuries,  against  the  unbelievers,  provided 
exhaustless  material.  There  were  also  the  feuds  of  the  later 
Carlovingians  with  their  vassals,  feuds  which,  in  the  epic 
song,  are  nearly  all  fought  out  by  Charlemagne  himself  More 
rarely,  the  composition  is  biographical,  whether  concerning 
Charlemagne  or  other  members  of  his  house.  But  in  the 
remoter  provinces  there  was  no  lack  of  independent  sagas, 
forming  special  epic  cycles,  though  their  structure,  too,  was 
determined  by  the  attraction  proceeding  from  the  centre. 

Anglo-Norman  England  remained  somewhat  alien  to  this 
entire  epic  development  as  it  culminated  in  France  after  the 
close  of  the  eleventh  century — or  rather,  it  shared  it  but  re- 
ceptively. The  Normans  beyond  the  Channel  did  not  cease 
to  listen  gladly  to  the  songs  of  Charlemagne  and  his  battles, 
of  his  vassals  and  his  foes,  to  receive  well  the  epic  singers 
who  came  over  from  the  continent,  and  to  show  them  hos- 
pitality; but  the  time  when  the  Norman  race  had  taken  an 
active  part  in  the  formation  of  the  French  national  epic  was 
past.  Numerous  as  were  the  germs  of  epic  production  the 
Norman  had  scattered  in  France,  he  did  nothing  to  promote 
their  development.  Severed  from  the  French  nation,  he  felt 
self-sufiicient  in  England,  and  he  soon  began  to  be  at  home 
on  this  foreign  soil.  He  here  found  himself  confronted  by 
new  and  great  tasks.  How  would  he  have  been  able  to 
perform  them,  had  he  continued,  as  in  former  times,  the  same 
close  relation  with  the  French  national  genius  ?  There  even 
^.rose  a  feeling  of  antagonism  among  the  Normans  of  Nor- 


120  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

mandy  against  the  true  Frenchman,  a  feeling  which,  from 
the  middle  of  the  twelfth  century  onwards,  fast  grew  more 
bitter,  and  finally  turned  into  keen  hatred. 

But  this  was  not  all.  With  the  eleventh  centuiy  ended 
the  Norman  heroic  age.  The  flame  of  enthusiasm  for  youth- 
ful ideals  subsided.  The  sober  quality  directed  to  the  prac- 
tical and  useful,  as  well  as  a  certain  tendency  to  irony,  to 
light  mockery,  reappeared  more  strongly  in  the  race. 

It  is  significant  that  even  before  the  close  of  the  eleventh 
century,  Norman  poetry  could  produce  a  work  like  the 
Charlemagne. 

The  poem  belongs  to  the  French  national  cycle,  but  its 
position  there  is  exceptional.  One  is  almost  tempted  to  re- 
gard it  as  a  parody  of  the  c/iansons  de  geste. 

The  poet  draws  from  the  popular  tradition,  touching 
Charlemagne's  journey  to  the  Holy  Land,  and  circulated  as 
early  as  the  tenth  century.  The  relics  in  St.  Denis  were  also 
connected  with  it.  In  the  poem,  Charlemagne,  returning 
from  the  Orient,  brings  with  him  the  chalice  which  Christ 
used  at  the  Lord's  Supper,  and  this  is  not  unimportant  in 
considering  the  origin  of  the  Graal-saga. 

The  Norman  poet  interwove  with  this  venerable  tradition 
a  theme  which  would  have  harmonised  better  with  the  tone 
of  iht  fabliau  than  that  of  the  epos.  Charlemagne  and  his 
twelve  peers,  at  the  court  of  Constantinople,  deport  them- 
selves like  swaggerers,  and  take  it  upon  tliemselves  to  exe- 
cute all  sorts  of  tricks,  some  of  them  of  doubtful  morality. 
Forced  to  make  good  their  jocose  boasts,  they  get  out  of 
their  embarrassment  only  by  supernatural  aid.  That  the 
reputation  of  these  heroes  is,  nevertheless,  not  dragged  in 
the  dust,  that  Charlemagne  especially  does  not  impair  his 
dignity,  and  that,  in  this  strange  amalgamation  of  a  religious 
and  a  frivolous  secular  element,  the  former  receives  no  in- 
jury, is  a  strong  testimonial  to  the  tact  and  talent  of  the 
poet. 

One  of  the  many  attractive  qualities  of  the  Charlemagtie  is 
its  metre.  The  epic  tirade  of  the  poem  does  not  flow  in 
lines  of  ten  syllables,  but  in  Alexandrines,  which  we  first  meet 
here,  and  which,  with  this  sole  exception,  were  long  unknown 
to  the  French  national  epic. 

Learning  and  literature  could  be  more  readily  transplanted 
to  England  than  living  popular  poetry. 


CONTINENTAL  LEARNING  IN  ENGLAND.  I27 

France  was  then,  and  became  ever  more  the  centre  of 
learned  culture  in  Europe,  and  Normandy  took  an  active 
part  in  the  intellectual  movement  which  passed  through  the 
country. 

Scholarship  had  not  failed,  even  before  the  Conquest,  to 
form  relations  between  England  and  the  adjacent  continent. 
Englishmen  finished  their  training  in  French  or  Flemish  con- 
vents; French  or  Flemish  ecclesiastics  went  to  England, 
where  their  knowledge  and  industry  were  eagerly  welcomed. 
What  an  impulse  must  this  intercourse  have  gained  when 
England  was  joined  to  Normandy  by  a  thousand  threads, 
when  Lanfranc  sat  upon  the  archiepiscopal  seat  of  Canter- 
bury and  began  energetically  to  romancise  the  English 
church  and  clergy!  England,  though  not  at  once  its  Eng- 
lish-speaking population,  was  entirely  drawn  into  the  stream 
of  scholarly  Hfe  v/hich  circulated  upon  the  continent.  The 
fame  and  prosperity  of  the  French  schools  were  most  potent 
in  maintaining  this  intellectual  intercourse.  The  lustre 
which  the  university  of  Paris  began  to  shed  in  the  twelfth 
century  tended  above  all  to  promote  it.  Thousands  of 
youths,  eager  for  knowledge,  wandered  from  the  British 
island  to  the  chief  seat  of  scholastic  learning,  with  which  the 
university  of  Oxford,  then  in  its  first  stages,  could  not  seri- 
ously compete.  The  new  theories  set  up  by  French  think- 
ers, the  conflicts  fought  in  the  French  church  and  theology, 
were  at  once  echoed  in  England. 

A  rich,  learned,  and  ecclesiastical  literature  in  the  Latin 
language  arose  in  England  soon  after  the  Conquest.  Among 
the  many  Norman  and  other  foreign  ecclesiastics  who  came 
to  England  in  the  train  of  the  conqueror,  in  order  there  to 
procure  livings  and  stations  of  honour,  to  fill  newly  founded 
monasteries,  or  to  take  the  best  places  in  earlier  founda- 
tions, were  many  who  united  scholarly  culture  with  vigorous 
productivity.  They  were  throughout  far  superior  to  the 
English  clergy  in  their  acquaintance  with  the  Latin  classical 
writers,  and  in  the  purity  of  their  Latin  style  as  well  as  their 
dialectic  training.  A  pordon  of  the  native  clergy  soon 
joined  the  new-comers,  learned  from  them,  and  worked  on  in 
their  spirit;  some  even  in  distant  lands  gathered  new  learn- 
mg,  while  others  lingered  in  a  sort  of  national  isolation  upon 
an  antiquated  level.     In  the  second  and  third  generation, 


128  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

besides  immigrants  and  men  of  English  blood,  the  sons  of 
the  conquerors  themselves,  in  part  children  of  mixed  nation- 
ality, and  also  Welshmen,  bore  aloft  the  torch  of  learning, 
which  attracted  an  ever-increasing  number  of  disciples 
about  it. 

The  most  diverse  branches  of  learning  and  science  were 
cultivated  in  England,  and  works  were  produced  in  nearly 
every  field. 

As  archbishop  of  Canterbury,  Lanfranc  wrote,  about  1080, 
his  famous  Liber  scinfillanu?!.  He  there  defended  the  the- 
ory of  transubstantiation  as  the  orthodox  doctrine  of  the 
eucharist,  and  strove  to  prove  heretical  the  opposite  view  of 
Berengar  of  Tours,  which  was  closely  related  to  the  ideas  of 
the  Old  English  church.  Anselm,  who  died  in  1109,  com- 
posed in  England  his  De  ijicaniatione  Verbiß  and  there  he 
began  the  tract  Cur  de  us  Jiomo?^  which  he  finished  in  Italy. 
In  England,  too,  he  wrote,  in  later  years,  his  treatise  De 
vohuitate^  and  the  profound  investigation.  De  concordia  prae- 
scieiitiae  et praedestinationis  et  gratiae  Dei  cu?n  liber 0  a?'bit?'io. 
The  monk  Osberne  of  Gloucester  wrote,  in  11 50,  a  commen- 
tary to  the  Pentateuch  and  the  book  of  Judges.  The  learned 
Robertus  PuUus  lectured  at  Oxford  upon  the  Holy  Script- 
ures, and  later  (1144  and  '45)  became  cardinal  in  Rome  and 
chancellor  of  the  Romish  church.  He  compiled  a  sort  of 
compendium  of  theological  learning  [Libri  sente?iiiarum). 
Hugo  of  Rouen  (died  11 64),  the  acute  author  of  the  Quacs- 
iioiies  theohgicae,  Robert  de  Melun  (died  1167),  whose  spec- 
ulations took  bold  flight  in  his  Summa  sententiarum  (or 
Sum7ua  theotogiae),  both  belonged  to  England  during  part 
of  their  hves ;  the  latter  having  been  born  and  having  died 
in  that  country. 

It  is  not  easy  to  find  one's  way  through  the  ascetic  and 
devotional  literature,  especially  through  the  mass  of  hves  of 
the  saints,  which  appeared  in  that  age.  Some  of  these  le- 
gends served  to  enlarge  the  circle  of  admirers  of  many  saints 
ignored  by  the  Old  Englisli  authors,  especially  Irish  and 
Welsh  worthies,  while  some  English  saints  found  difficulty 
in  maintaining  their  position  before  the  sharp-scented  Nor- 
man orthodoxy.  But  a  finer  taste,  a  better  Latinity,  gradu- 
ally came  into  vogue  even  in  these  truly  monkish  fields  of 
literature,  since  the  greatest  writers  did  not  disdain  to  labour 


SCIENTIFIC  WRITINGS.  1 29 

in  them.  We  would  next  mention  an  author  who  is  note- 
worthy, neither  on  account  of  great  classical  learning  nor 
aesthetic  culture,  but  for  a  subjective  intensity  related  to  mys- 
ticism; this  is  Ailred  (Aethelred)  of  Rievaux  (died  1166),  a 
man  narrowed  by  monasticism,  severely  ascetic,  but  filled  by 
the  warmest  Christian  charity.  He  was  the  author  of  the 
Specuhim  charitatis,  of  the  dialogue  De  spirittuili  aniicitia^  of 
the  Liber  de  institutione  i7iclicsarum^  and  many  other  theo- 
logical and  historical  writings. 

The  mathematical  and  natural  sciences  were  ardently  cul- 
tivated. As  early  as  1082  appeared  Gerland,  the  author  of  a 
Computus  and  a  treatise  on  the  Abacus.  Roger,  surnamed 
Infans,  composed  a  new  Computus  (or  Compot^is,  as  he  writes 
it,)  about  the  year  1124.  By  this  time,  Aethelard  (Aethel- 
ward)  of  Bath  had  already  begun  to  make  accessible  to  the 
West  the  more  richly- developed  and  bolder  learning  of  the 
Arabs,  which  he  had  sought  at  its  fountain-head.  He  made 
translations  of  both  astronomical  and  mathematical  writings, 
including  the  elements  of  Euclid,  and  more  original  compi- 
lations and  treatises.  He  was  animated  by  a  passionate  love 
of  scientific  knowledge,  a  passion  which  he  had  expressed 
under  the  veil  of  a  graceful  allegory  in  his  treatise  De  eodem 
et  diverso.  He  bravely  fought  the  bHnd  faith  in  authority 
dominant  in  the  West,  and  asserted  the  rights  of  reason, 
while  he  strove  above  all  to  estabHsh  in  his  Quaestiones  natu- 
rales the  reasonableness  of  the  new  physical  theories  derived 
from  the  x\rabs.  In  1140  the  Anglo-Norman  Robert  de  Re- 
tines  sat  with  his  student  friend  the  Dalmatian  Hermann  at 
the  feet  of  Arabian  teachers  at  Evora  in  Spain,  where  he  was 
chiefly  occupied  with  astronomical  studies,  which  he  inter- 
rupted to  translate  the  Koran  into  Latin,  at  the  wish  of  the 
abbot  of  Cluny,  Peter  the  Venerable. 

With  scientific  learning,  Latin  poetry  also  took  a  new  im- 
petus. We  have  a  poem  on  the  campaign  of  Hastings  i^De 
bello  Hastingensi^  or  de  Hastingae  praelio)  by  Bishop  Guy  of 
Amiens,  who  accompanied  Queen  Matilda  to  England,  as 
almoner,  in  the  year  1068.  If  in  this  piece  the  form  is  much 
inferior  to  the  substance,  the  epigrams  of  Godfrey  of  Win- 
chester (died  1 107)  denote  great  skill,  happily  caught  from 
Martial,  in  the  management  of  his  poetical  resources,  as  well 
as  a  purity  of  style  and  language  noteworthy  for  the  Middle 

J 


• 


130  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

Ages.  Again,  Reginald  of  Canterbury  (about  11 20)  united 
considerable  classical  culture  with  great  technical  skill ;  but, 
fettered  by  the  charm  of  rhyme,  he  wearies  the  ear  and  of- 
fends the  taste,  in  his  long-winded  legend  of  St.  Malchus,  by 
an  unbroken  chain  of  leonine  hexameters.  He  sometimes 
finds  the  right  tone,  however,  in  minor  poems,  and  he  sings 
a  charming  hymn  of  praise,  in  rhymed  half-hexameters,  to 
his  evidently  South-French  home  Fagia.^  Not  long  before 
the  middle  of  the  twelfth  centur}',  Laurence  of  Durham  told, 
in  his  Hypognosticoti^  the  biblical  history  in  well-constructed, 
flowing  distichs, — a  work  showing  industrious  study  of  clas- 
sical authors,  and  not  deficient  in  fine  ideas  and  elegance  of 
expression ;  whereas  in  the  Coiisolatio pro  inorte  a?nici,  following 
the  footsteps  of  Boethius,  he  interwove  in  his  prose  dialogue 
varying  rhythmical  passages,  not  inartistically  constructed. 
Laurence's  contemporary,  Henry  of  Huntingdon,  known 
chiefly  as  a  historian,  also  successfully  tried  his  powers  in  di- 
dactic, lyrical,  and  epigrammatic  poetry. 

Most  important,  however,  for  the  uses  of  the  present  age, 
is  the  historical  literature  of  that  time.  There  had  existed  a 
Norman  historiography  since  the  end  of  the  tenth  century. 
Dudo  of  St.  Quentin  then  wrote,  in  vivid,  lofty,  but  some- 
times bombastic  style,  and  often  in  barbarous  Latin,  his  three 
books  on  the  manners  and  deeds  of  the  earlier  Norman 
dukes  (to  the  death  of  Richard  L,  in  996).  The  somewhat 
simpler  and  terser  Historiae  Norma?iJioriwi  by  William  of 
Jumieges  belongs  to  the  second  half  of  the  eleventh  century. 
Depending  entirely  upon  his  predecessor  for  the  period  of  the 
earlier  dirkes,  he  carried  his  account  beyond  the  battle  of 
Senlac.  Soon  after  1135  he  himself  had  a  successor  who 
continued  his  work,  and  others  later  supplied  interpolations. 
Another  William,  named  de  Poitiers,  from  the  city  v.-here  he 
received  his  first  training,  upon  his  return  to  Normandy, 
served  the  conqueror,  first  as  soldier,  then  as  court  chaplain, 
and  he  finally  became  archdeacon  of  Lisieux.  He  described 
the  life  and  acts  of  his  mighty  patron  in  a  work  breathing  a 
spirit  of  warmest  panegyric,  but  containing  a  mass  of  inter- 
esting facts.     This  was  his  Gesta  Guilelmi  duels  Norman?io- 

'  That  is,  in  hexameters  with  middle  and  end-rhyme,  according  to  the  following 
scheme : 

_L  \j   o  ±0   v->  JL  {| L  \J   ^  JL  V^   W  JL  W 


HISTORICAL  WRITINGS.  I3I 

rum  et  regis  Anglorum  ;  its  style  denotes  a  not  unsuccessful 
attempt  to  emulate  the  classical  models,  from  which  indeed 
many  flourishes  are  borrowed. 

In  England,  too,  arose,  after  the  Conquest,  a  lively  interest 
in  historical  studies  and  it  extended  to  the  highest  ranks  of 
the  clergy.  As  an  example  we  may  cite  Ernulf  of  Beau va  is, 
abbot  of  Peterborough  (1107),  and  afterwards  bishop  of 
Rochester  (11 14).  The  student  of  history  owes  to  him  the 
important  collection  of  records  known  by  the  name  of  Texhis 
Raffe jisis.  Numerous  biographies  and  local  chronicles  origi- 
nated in  the  most  diverse  places.  There  were  also  works  cf 
broader  purpose  and  more  general  import.  The  English 
monk  Eadmer  of  Canterbury,  the  warm  follower  and  admirer 
of  Anselm,  recounted  theiiistory  of  his  own  time  in  the  His- 
toria  7iovorum,  embracing  the  period  from  1066  to  1122. 
This  is  a  very  important  authority  to  the  historian,  and  the 
author  added  a  most  valuable  supplement  to  it  in  his  Vita 
Anselmi.  Another  historian,  Ordericus  Vitalis  (1075-1143), 
was  the  son  of  a  married  priest  of  Orleans,  but  was  himself 
born  in  England,  on  the  banks  of  the  Severn,  and  was  brought 
up  there  until  his  tenth  year.  He  wrote  a  Historia  ecclesias- 
tica  in  thirteen  books  in  the  abbey  of  St.  Evroult  in  Nor- 
mandy, where  he  spent  nearly  all  his  later  life.  He  made 
use  of  many  and  most  various  authorities,  especially  French 
and  Norman,  as  well  as  Enghsh,  and  at  times  he  inserted  his 
originals  entire  into  his  text.  The  parts  of  this  vast  work  did 
not  originate  at  the  same  time,  nor  all  in  the  order  finally  as- 
signed to  them.  Ordericus's  history  offers  first  a  chronicle 
extending  from  the  birth  of  Christ  to  the  author's  time,  and 
having  special  reference  to  ecclesiastical  matters.  The  his- 
tory of  the  Norman  wars  and  the  Norman  church  is  then 
traced  to  the  death  of  the  Conqueror,  and  the  historical  ac- 
count continues  dovv'n  to  the  year  1 141.  Tlie  work  of  Orderi- 
cus is  a  mine,  rich  in  a  material,  not  fully  purified,  but  very 
attractive  and  valuable,  especially  to  the  historian  of  culture. 
On  the  whole,  it  is  an  important  authority  for  the  period  after 
the  Conquest. 

Florence  of  Worcester  and  Simeon  of  Durham,  both  of 
whom  wrote  and  died  before  Ordericus,  stand  somewhat 
apart  from  the  stream  of  Norman  historiography,  although 
they  were  not  untouched  by  the  historical  atmosphere  that 
pervaded  that  age;  they  turned  to  the  past  life  of  England. 


132  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

Florence's  Chronicon  ex  chfonUis,  carried  from  the  creation 
of  the  world  to  the  year  of  the  author's  death  (11 18),  is  es- 
sentially a  compilation  of  the  universal  chronicle  (extending 
to  1082)  of  Marianus  Scotus,^  which  it  continues,  and  of  the 
English  Afuials  of  Worcester.  As  a  historical  authority,  it 
is  in  itself  much  inferior  to  the  continuation  (to  1141)  w^hich 
it  soon  received  from  an  anonymous  hand.  The  Hisforia  de 
gestes  regum  Anglorum  (to  1129),  by  Simeon  of  Durham,  is 
more  valuable,  though  not  more  original;  the  author  was 
able  to  draw,  not  only  from  Florence  and  editions  of  the 
English  annals  accessible  to  us,  but  also  from  lost  Northum- 
brian sources. 

Since  Beda,  who,  moreover,  was  chiefly  a  church  historian, 
no  writer  of  Enghsh  histor}'  had  been  found  equal  to  this 
task;  for  the  excellent  qualities  of  the  annals  written  in  the 
national  language  were  confined  to  the  descriptions  of  single 
battles,  undertakings,  occurrences,  or  to  brief  retrospects,  and 
writers  Hke  Aethehveard,  like  Florence  and  Simeon,  followed 
the  annals  as  regards  form  and  matter.  A  connected,  prag- 
matical handling  of  the  material,  which  had  swollen  to  meas- 
ureless proportions  since  Beda's  day,  a  treatment  based  upon 
cautious  use  of  the  now  still  more  copious  sources,  and  car- 
ried out  in  an  even,  appropriate  style,  did  not  exist.  But 
soon  after  Simeon,  there  appeared  in  WiUiam,  a  monk  and 
librarian  in  the  convent  of  ]Malmesbury,  a  writer  who  tried 
his  powers  in  the  production  of  such  a  work.  Given  to 
study  from  tender  youth,  brooding  over  books,  WiUiam  ac- 
quired a  great  store  of  reading  in  the  most  diverse  fields  of 
literature.  But  his  favourite  pursuit  w^as  history,  and  he  may 
early  have  become  conscious  of  the  deep  chasm  w^hich 
yawmed  between  the  ancient  masters  of  history,  and  the 
modern  annalists  and  chroniclers,  especially  those  of  his  own 
country.  The  question  doubtless  soon  arose  in  him  whether 
this  chasm  might  not  somehow  be  bridged.  Of  sound  judg- 
ment and  not  uncultivated  taste,  William  was  the  man  to 
make  a  correct  choice  from  the  rich  material  which  his  learn- 
ing opened  to  him,  to  connect  and  judiciously  to  group  de- 
tails, and  to  present  them  in  pleasing  form.  Yet  criticism  in 
the  sense  of  our  time  is  as  little  to. be  found  in  his  works  as 

'  By  birth  an  Irishman,  who  lived  in  Germany,  first  as  monk  and  then  as  an  im- 
mured hermit,  and  who  died  at  Mainz  in  1082  or  1083. 


WILLIAM  OF  MALMESBURY.  1 33 

a  profound  view  of  historical  development.  He  adopted 
without  scruple  many  errors  and  fables,  and  the  more  artistic 
form  of  his  composition  not  rarely  endangered  the  integrity 
of  his  matter.  His  range  was,  however,  broad  for  a  monk 
of  the  twelfth  century,  and  he  was  in  the  main  just.  He 
was  the  offspring  of  mixed  parentage,  we  may  suppose, 
of  a  Norman  father  and  an  English  mother;  and  hence  he 
was  able  to  do  justice  to  the  excellences  of  both  races,  and 
not  to  underestimate  their  faults.  Above  all,  he  loved  his 
country,  and  particularly  the  spot  where  he  lived,  and  where 
centuries  before  Aldhelm  had  held  sway,  and  now  lay  buried. 
He  was  strongly  attracted  by  the  past  of  English  history. 
Its  more  ancient  epochs  after  the  introduction  of  Christianity 
appeared  to  him  in  an  ideal  light,  while  the  period  just  be- 
fore the  Conquest,  as  he  saw  it,  was  somewhat  dimmed  by 
the  clouds  in  which  Norman  prelates  and  courtly  historiog- 
raphers sought  to  envelop  it.  His  writings  are  very  valu- 
able for  the  investigator  of  Old  English  history,  and  not  least 
so  for  the  student  of  literature.  First  among  them  should  be 
mentioned  his  Historia  regum  Angloriwt,  extending  from  the 
English  immigration  to  11 20,  to  which  was  later  added  the 
Historiae  Jtoveliae,  embracing  the  period  from  11 26  to  1143  > 
and  further,  his  four  books  De  gestis  poJitificum  Angloriim^ 
his  life  of  Aldhelm,  and  his  work  De  antiquitatibus  Glaston- 
iensis  ecclesiae. 

As  a  historian,  Henry,  archdeacon  of  Huntingdon,  does 
not  rank  so  high  as  William  of  Malmesbury,  but  he  is  well- 
nigh  equally  important  as  an  authority,  and  in  another  re- 
spect is  especially  attractive.  In  his  youth  he  had  written 
Latin  verse,  and,  in  the  year  1135,  he  had  handled  in  his 
De  sunitnitatibiis  renim^  the  then  burning  question  as  to  the 
time  of  the  end  of  the  world.  He  then  undertook,  at  the 
wish  of  Bishop  Alexander  of  Lincoln,  a  history  of  England, 
which  he  carried  first  to  the  year  1135,  and  later  to  11 54. 
Beda  and  the  English  Ajinals  were  his  chief  authorities  for 
the  Old  English  period,  and  he  often  merely  copied  or 
translated  them.  But  he  likewise  drew  from  oral  tradition 
and  from  popular  poetry.  He  translated  from  the  A?t7iah 
into  his  Latin,  though  not  without  some  errors,  the  beautiful 
song  on  the  Battle  of  Brtmanbtirh  ;  he  interwove  in  his  prose 
several  verses  from  tlie  now  vanished  works  of  Middle  Latin 


134  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

poets;  and,  judging  from  analogy,  the  rhetorical  colour  of 
his  style,  as  well  as  the  picturesque  details  of  his  narrative, 
not  rarely  seem  to  be  the  reflection  of  a  popular  song  no 
longer  extant.  The  account  of  the  Anglo-Norman  period  is 
rich  in  new  and  weighty  information,  particularly  the  epoch 
about  which  Henry  professes  to  write  as  an  eye-witness,  or 
from  the  statements  of  eye-witnesses  and  well-informed  per- 
sons. 

In  the  midst  of  this  circle  of  historians  we  also  find  Geof- 
frey of  Monmouth,  where  he  has  almost  the  air  of  an  in- 
truder. He  became  bishop  of  St.  Asaph  in  the  year  1152 
and  died  about  1154.  He  was  not  unlikely  a  native  of 
Wales ;  undoubtedly  he  w^as  acquainted  with  the  Cymric 
language.  He  was,  moreover,  versed  in  the  legendary  lore 
of  several  nations,  was  well  read  in  the  poets,  and  him- 
self possessed  no  slight  liking  for,  and  skill  in  story-telling. 
So  he  wrote,  in  the  fourth  decade  of  the  century  (about 
1 132-35),  his  Historia  Britonum,  a  monument  of  stupendous 
delusion  \  but  in  which  he  seems  to  have  been  the  deceiver 
rather  than  the  deceived.  The  Celtic  world  in  England  had 
been  thrown  by  the  Conquest  into  a  sort  of  ferment.  The 
ancient  enemies  of  the  British  race  had  been  crushed  by  a 
foreign  power,  and  their  attempts  to  shake  off  the  strange 
yoke  had  been  terribly  punished ;  so  terribly  that  the  Eng- 
lish population  was  decimated  in  the  extreme  south-west  of 
the  island,  and  the  Britons  rose  again  for  a  time.  New  hopes 
and  ancient  memories  aw^oke  among  the  Celts,  and  the  brac- 
ing intellectual  atmosphere  that  entered  the  island  with  the 
Normans,  the  cosmopolitan  character  which  they,  unlike  the 
Angles,  exhibited,  as  well  in  literature  as  in  all  other  things, 
yielded  fresh  impulses  and  fresh  means  to  give  definite  shape 
to  the  thoughts  thus  engendered.  Men  dreamed  of  the  res- 
toration of  the  former  greatness  of  the  British  realm,  and  told 
the  tales  of  Merlin  and  his  prophecies.  Scholars  ascribed 
the  origin  of  the  British  people  to  Troy,  as  had  long  before 
been  done  concerning  the  Franks.  The  long  interval  between 
the  settlement  of  Britons  in  Albion  and  the  beginning  of  au- 
thentic history  seemed  veiled  in  mysterious  gloom,  from 
which  a  few  vague  legendary  forms  now  and  then  emerged. 
But  the  period  of  the  Saxon  immigration  was  peopled  by 
many  heroes  celebrated  in  bardic  songs,  though  their  glory 


GliOFFREY  OF  MONMOUTH,  I35 

was  beginning  to  be  eclipsed  by  the  name  of  Arthur.     This 
name  first  denoted  a  heroic  leader  of  the  Britons,  a  conqueror 
of  the  Saxons  in  twelve  battles,  and  later,  when  the  British 
traditions  had  received  a  richer  cast  and  form  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  Charlemagne-saga,  a  mighty  king  and  world- 
conqueror.     Arthur's  heroic  deeds  and  the  origin  of  the  Brit- 
ons, whose  name  is  connected  with  a  Roman  consul  called 
Brutus,  were  treated  in  a  Latin  history  of  the  Britons,  of 
most  doubtful  age.     Its  author  bears  very  diverse  names, 
but  is  best  known  by  that  of  Nennius.     This  work  arose  per- 
haps not  long  before  the  time  of  Geoffrey,  and  upon  it  he 
founded  his  new  Histofia  Brifomim  or  Historia  regiim  Brit- 
an7iiae.     He  drew  from  ancient  poets  and  prose  writers,  as 
well  as  the  most  various  traditions  and  fables,  and  often  gave 
rein  to  his  own  fancy.     He  thus  clothed  the  skeleton  with 
flesh  and  blood,  and  submitted  to  an  amazed  world  and  to 
his  colleagues  William  of  Malmesbury  and  Henry  of  Hunt- 
ingdon, who  had  heard  nothing  of  these  things,  a  long  com- 
plete genealogy  of  British  rulers,  together  with  an  account 
of  the  cities  they  had  founded,  the  deeds  they  had  done,  and 
the  events  of  their  lives.     The  learned  world  now  heard  for 
the  first  time  of  Locrine,  of  Gorboduc,  of  Leir  (Lear)  and  his 
daughters.    But  above  all  the  figure  of  Arthur  now  stood  forth 
in  brilliant  fight,  a  chivalrous  king  and  hero,  endowed  and 
guarded  by  supernatural  powers,  surrounded  by  brave  war- 
riors and  a  splendid  court,  a  man  of  marvellous  life,  and  a 
tragic  death.    Accurate  chronological  and  geographical  state- 
ments, a  thread  of  authenticated  English  and  general  history, 
gave  to  this  narrative  an  air  of  historical  fidefity ;  and  this 
was  heightened  by  the  fiction  of  a  British  (or  Cymric)  book, 
which  Geoffrey  professed  to  have  received  from  Walter,  arch- 
deacon of  Oxford,  and  to  have  used  conscientiously  as  his 
authority. 

If  there  were  many  scholars  who  saw  through  this  tissue 
of  fies,  the  great  mass  were  carried  away  by  it.  Men  believed 
the  stories  presented  with  so  much  gravity  by  a  Benedictine 
and  a  bishop,  and  they  certainly  found  their  contents  most 
fascinating.  The  sense  of  the  marvellous  and  the  mysterious 
was  nourished  not  less  than  the  sense  of  the  chivalric  and 
heroic,  or  the  love  for  the  glitter  and  splendour  of  a  kingly 
life;  and  Geoffrey's  rhetorical,  even  poetical,  style  brought 
to  bear  with  their  full  force  all  these  elements. 


136  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

The  effect  of  the  work  was  therefore  tremendous.  Geof- 
frey's influence  grew  through  the  entire  course  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  and  spreading  in  a  thousand  channels,  reached  far  into 
modern  times,  down  to  Shakspere,  nay  to  Tennyson. 

The  Historia  Britoincm  was  epitomised,  before  the  middle 
of  the  twelfth  century,  by  Alfred  of  Beverley,  and  he  appended 
to  his  extract  fi-om  Geoffrey  an  account  from  other  authors 
of  the  English,  and  of  the  Norman  period  (to  11 29),  in  his 
Afuiales  sive  Historia  de  gestis  regum  jBrita?miae.  About  the 
same  time,  Geoffrey's  fictions  entered  the  Norman  national 
literature. 

III. 

Anglo-Norman  poetry,  to  judge  from  its  remnants,  made 
its  debut,  in  the  beginning  of  the  twelfth  century,  with  didac- 
tic rhymes  and  legendary  poems,  to  which  were  soon  added 
chronicles  in  verse.  The  connection  with  the  Latin  litera- 
ture of  the  epoch  is  clearly  evident. 

As  regards  metre,  these  poems  were  the  first  in  which  non- 
strophic  couplets  were  employed.  The  older  French  poesy 
•was  strophic  throughout,  because  it  was  sung,  though  in  part 
merely,  in  the  manner  of  a  recitative.  This  is  likewise  true 
of  the  legendary  poetr}^;  not  only  in  those  cases  where,  as  in 
the  Chanson  d' Alexis,  it  made  use  of  the  epic  measure  and 
continuous  assonance  (the  epic  tirades  having,  however,  a 
fixed  number  of  lines),  but  also  in  poems  where  it  offers  a 
series  of  shorter  lines  rhymed  in  pairs,  as  in  the  Song  of 
Lcodegar.  Learned  treatises  could  indeed  be  put  into  rhyme 
and  metre,  but  they  could  be  sung  less  readily,  and  as  soon 
as  men  began  to  read  and  recite,  it  was  no  longer  necessary 
to  make  a  pause  after  every  two  or  three  pairs  of  Hnes. 
Hence  the  non-strophic  couplet  followed  of  itself.  Another 
result  of  reading  and  writing  in  the  place  of  singing  was  the 
conversion  of  assonance  into  rhyme,  though  at  first  the  lat- 
ter was  not  used  without  occasional  liberties. 

Henr}^  I.  was  a  pupil  of  Lanfranc,  and,  as  his  surname 
Beauclerc  seems  to  indicate,  himself  gave  proof  of  a  literary 
interest.  Under  him  wrote  Philipe  de  Thaun,  whose  family 
probably  originally  resided  in  the  city  of  Than,  near  Caen, 
in  Normandy,  and  may  in  part  have  emigrated  to  England. 


PHILIPE  DE  THAUN.  I3 

About  II 13  or  1 1 19  he  produced  his  Compuhis  or  Cumpoz. 
Like  his  Latin  predecessors,  he  treats,  in  the  interest  of  the 
church  fservice,  the  divisions  of  time,  the  zodiac,  the  moon, 
etc.,  as  well  as  the  church  seasons  of  fasting  and  festival, 
now  and  then  adding  an  allegorical  interpretation.  His 
authorities  were  Beda,  Gerland,  and  other  computers  named 
by  him.  This  work  was  dedicated  to  the  author's  uncle, 
Hunfrei  de  Thaun,  chaplain  of  the  royal  seneschal  Yun 
(Eudo).  It  has  come  to  us  in  incomplete  form.  There  is 
not  much  to  regret  in  this,  however;  for  the  rather  unpoetical 
topic  gained  little  by  the  poetical  form  adopted,  and  Philipe's 
short  six-syllabled^  verse,  in  which  the  rhyme  so  often  recurs, 
impaired  his  style,  as  well  by  the  excessive  curtailment  as 
by  the  meaningless  expansion  of  his  sentences.  He  displayed 
greater  skill  in  his  next  poem,  the  Bestiaire,  whose  subject- 
matter  is  more  entertaining.  He  dedicated  it  to  Adelaide  de 
Louvain,  who  had  married  King  Henry  in  11 21.  The 
Bestiaire  is  an  Anglo-Norman  Physiologies,  whose  Latin 
sources  are  not  yet  accurately  established,  but  which  system- 
atically separates  the  "  beasts  "  [bestes)  from  the  birds,  and 
then,  apparently  as  an  afterthought,  adds  to  these  two  divis- 
ions a  third  on  stones.  Philipe  wrote  this  poem,  too,  mainly 
in  lines  of  six  syllables.  He  chose  in  the  third  section,  how- 
ever, a  more  convenient  metre,  the  octosyllabic.  This  meas- 
ure had  been  employed,  with  the  strophic  form,  as  early  as 
the  tenth  century  (compare  the  poems  on  the  Passion  of 
Christ  and  on  Leodegar);  and  in  the  non-strophic  form,  it 
was  to  become  the  prevailing  metre  for  scholastic  poesy,  for 
the  romance  of  chivalry,  and  for  the  poetical  tale. 

Before  Philipe's  Physiologus  another  poem  by  another 
hand  had  been  dedicated  to  Queen  Adelaide  :  the  Legend  of 
St.  Brandan.  Its  author  called  himself  Benedeit  (Benedict), 
with  the  designation  apostoile  {apostoliciis),  which  surely  can- 
not here  mean  pope,  as  it  usually  does.  It  is  significant 
that  the  Anglo-Norman  poetry,  from  the  very  beginning, 
celebrated  Celtic  saints,  and  did  not  confine  itself  to  such  as 
had  taken  a  part  in  the  conversion  of  England,  as  had  the 
Scottish  monks  in  Northumbria.  The  legend  of  Brandan, 
it  is  true,  was  peculiarly  suitable  to  an  age  in  which  the  cru- 

1  The  couplet  of  lines  in  six  syllables  can,  from  its  origin,  be  regarded  as  an  Alexan- 
drine with  leonine  rhymes. 


138  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

sades  flourished,  and  the  eyes  of  men  were  directed  long- 
ingly toward  the  far-away  East,  with  its  hidden  wonders. 
Brandan  was  an  Irish  abbot  of  the  sixth  century;  in  the 
legend,  founded  upon  the  tales  of  Irish  sailors,  he  makes  a 
journey  of  discovery  to  the  earthly  paradise,  the  terra  repro- 
juissionis  sa?iciorum.  The  holy  abbot  sails  far  over  bound- 
less seas,  accompanied  by  seventeen  of  his  monks,  not  all 
of  whom  are  again  to  see  their  native  land.  Upon  this 
journey  they  encounter  strange  adventures,  marvellous  creat- 
ures, often  of  frightful,  and  sometimes  of  pleasing  or  ven- 
erable aspect,  enchanted  islands,  danger  and  distress,  from 
which  God's  hand  ever  saves  them.  They  even  glance  in 
passing  at  the  terrors  of  hell,  and  meet  the  traitor  Judas  upon 
a  rock  in  the  sea,  a  helpless  victim  of  the  waves,  which  make 
their  horrid  sport  with  him,  on  the  few  days  when  he  is 
allowed  to  take  breath  after  the  torments  of  hell.  Finally, 
after  more  than  seven  years  of  wandering,  they  reach  para- 
dise, which  is  veiled  in  thick  clouds  and  surrounded  by  a 
wall  of  gold  and  precious  stones.  An  angel  receives  them, 
and  opens  to  them  the  gate  guarded  by  dragons  and  a  fiery 
sword,  and  lets  them  gaze  upon  some  of  the  deHghts  and 
wonders  which  it  contains.  He  then  dismisses  them  to  re- 
turn home  enhghtened  and  comforted.  This  legend  had 
been  written  down  in  Latin  in  the  tenth  century,  or  per- 
haps earlier,  with  the  title  Navigatio  sa?icti  Brendaui.  The 
Anglo-Norman  poet  drew  from  this  source,  and,  in  the  main, 
followed  it  faithfully ;  three  adventures  are  omitted  by  him, 
but  the  hell-torments  of  Judas  are  specified  for  each  day  of 
the  week.  In  his  verse  the  legend  appears  at  its  best,  pos- 
sessing, as  it  does,  the  naive  charm  of  mystery,  though  it  has 
likewise  the  blemish  of  a  fancy  distorted  by  prejudice.  His 
style  is  simple  and  clear,  and  not  without  a  tinge  of  that  se- 
vere elegance  which  distinguished  the  Norman  clerical  po- 
etry generally.  The  metrical  form  of  this  poem  is  peculiar. 
There  are  short  couplets,  all  of  whose  lines  literally  number 
eight  syllables.  But  considered  from  the  standing-point  of  Ro- 
manic versification,  we  must  say  that  couplets  of  octosylla- 
bics with  masculine  rhymes  alternate  with  couplets  of  seven- 
syllabled  lines  having  double  endings.  Is  this  to  be  ascribed 
to  the  influence  of  English  versification,  according  to  which 


GEOFFREY  GAIMAR.  I39 

the  double  ending  beginning  with  a  long  syllable  was  sup- 
posed to  have  two  accents  ?  ^ 

Philipe,  as  well  as  Benedeit,  in  the  course  of  time,  had 
many  successors. 

Poetical  translations  of  the  distichs  of  Cato  and  the  Pro- 
verbia  Salomonis  appeared  not  long  after  them,  as  well  as 
poetical  sermons.  But  historical  poetry  stood  forth  above 
all  in  the  reign  of  King  Stephen.  The  position  it  took  at 
the  very  first,  international  and  intermediary,  was  most  re- 
markable. It  deemed  nothing  foreign  to  it  that  had  hap- 
pened on  English  soil. 

In  the  fifth  decade  of  the  century,  Geoffrey  Gaimar  wrote 
a  history  of  the  Britons  [Estorie  des  Bretons)^  which  is  un- 
fortunately lost.     We  know  that  his  authority  was  the  His- 
ioria  Britofium;  his  patroness,  Constance,  wife  of  Raul  Fitz 
Gilebert,  at  whose  commission  he  wrote,  had  obtained  a  copy 
from  the  Count  of  Gloucester  through  the  mediation  of  the 
nobleman  Walter  Espec,  who  dwelt  in  Yorkshire.     Like  Al- 
fred of  Beverley,  Gaimar  then  added  the  English  to  the  Brit- 
ish history  [Estorie  des  Engleis).     He  rendered  this  accord- 
ing to  various  authorities,  following  in  great  part  the  Winches- 
ter Aftnals,  and  continued  it  from  the  Conquest  to  the  end  of 
the  eleventh  century.     He  expresses  at  the  close — for  the 
Estorie  des  E?igteis  is  preserved — an  intention  of  describing 
the  history  of  Henry  1.,  but  he  does  not  seem  to  have  car- 
ried it  out.     Another  poet  named  David  had,  at  about  the 
same  time,  also  tried  his  hand  upon  this  material,  as  Gaimar 
informs  us.     Gaimar's  English  history  is  composed  in  short 
couplets  ^  and  in  flowing,  often  animated  language.      The 
poet  at  times  enhances  the  charm  of  his  narrative  by  inter- 
weaving popular  traditions;  as  when  he  relates  at  length  the 
Danish-EngHsh  saga  of  Havelok,  which  we  shall  consider 
later.y/ 

Geoffrey's  history  was  again  rendered  in  verse  about  ten 
years  later,  in  a  version  which  eclipsed  that  of  Gaimar,  and 
may  have  contributed  to  its  downfall.     This  more  modern 

*  Compare,  for  instance,  the  following  couplets  in  King  Horn,  ed.  Wissman,  v.  5-8 : 

King  he  was  bi  weste, 
so  longe  so  hit  16ste. 
Godhild  het  his  quen, 
fairer  non  mijte  ben. 

•  By  the  term  "short  couplets,"  when  used  by  itself,  and  with  regard  to  French 
verse,  we  mean  those  consisting  of  eight-syllabled  lines. 


140  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

version  arose  in  Normandy,  whose  literature  for  this  period 
cannot,  without  some  violence,  be  separated  from  the  Anglo- 
Norman.    Its  author  was  called  Wace  (/.  e.  Wistace,  Eustace). 

Bom  not  long  after  the  beginning  of  the  twelfth  centurj 
on  the  island  of  Jersey,  Wace  received  his  first  school  train- 
ing at  Caen,  and  completed  his  studies  in  the  Isle  de  France, 
and  probably  in  Paris.  Having  returned  to  Caen,  he  seems 
then  to  have  become  a  teacher  {clers  lisanz)  in  one  of  the 
schools  of  that  city.  His  leisure  hours  were  given  to  po- 
etry. He  himself  tells  us  that  during  his  long  stay  in  Caen, 
he  translated  a  large  number  of  Latin  writings  into  the  Ro- 
mance language  [romans),  which  here  of  course  means  the 
Norman  dialect,  and  at  that  time  such  work  was  generally 
done  in  the  form  of  poetry.  He  doubtless  put  chiefly  legends 
into  verse;  the  demand  for  them  being  the  greater,  as  it  was 
customary  on  the  feast-days  of  the  church  to  explain  to  the 
congregation  in  their  own  language,  and  usually  in  verse,  the 
occasion  of  the  festival,  or,  what  generally  amounted  to  the 
same  thing,  to  recite  the  saint's  legend  of  the  day.  In  his 
day,  Aelfric  had  written  his  alliterative  lives  of  the  saints  for 
a  similar  purpose. 

A  true  Norman,  Wace  was  fain  to  apply  himself  to  sub- 
jects that  were  popular  among  his  people,  and  could  lay 
claim  to  a  certain  national  significance.  Hence  he  wrote  the 
life  of  that  Nicholas  of  Patras  whose  bones  Norman  mer- 
chants of  Bari,  in  southern  Italy,  had  stolen  in  1087  from 
the  church  at  Myra  in  Lycia,  and  had  brought  home. 
Thence  the  fame  of  the  saint,  and  the  knowledge  of  the  con- 
tinuing miraculous  power  of  his  mortal  remains,  had  spread 
quickly  over  Europe  and  especially  in  Normandy.  In  the 
same  spirit,  he  celebrated  in  another  poem  the  feast  of  the 
conception,  fixed  at  the  instance  of  William  the  Conqueror, 
and  appropriately  known  by  the  name  la  fete  atix  Normarids. 

He  does  not  seem  to  have  attempted  larger  tasks  until 
after  the  year  1150.  When  the  son  of  Geotfrey  of  Anjou 
and  Matilda  ascended  the  English  throne  as  Henry  II., 
Wace  was  occupied  with  the  translation  of  the  history  of 
Geoffrey  of  Monmouth.  This  he  dedicated  after  its  com- 
pletion (1155)  to  Henry's  consort  Eleanor  of  Poitou,  who 
was  sung  by  the  minstrels  of  the  time.  Perhaps  the  bene- 
fice at  Bayeux,  granted  to  the  poet  by  Henry,  was  a  recom* 


WAGE  AND  THE  LEGEND  OF  ARTHUR.  14I 

pense  for  this  dedication.  Wace's  Geste  des  Bretons^  or,  as 
the  poem,  owing  to  its  Celtic  subject-matter,  came  to  be 
called  in  the  course  of  time,  Wace's  Brut d'' Engleterre}  served 
greatly  to  spread  the  fables  of  the  ancient  British  kings. 
Thus  it  tended  powerfully  to  develop  them,  at  least  the  legends 
of  Arthur,  who,  in  the  romances  of  French  poets  and  of  their 
German  imitators,  took  the  name  of  Artus. 

Tales  of  Arthur  were  told  in  the  lesser  as  well  as  the  greater 
Britanny,  and  the  more  his  history,  as  given  in  Geoffrey's  ac- 
count, became  known,  the  greater  was  the  temptation  to 
bring  all  sorts  of  traditions,  sagas,  and  tales  into  direct  or  in- 
direct relation  with  him,  and  the  more  active  became  the 
intellectual  intercourse  in  this  field  between  Armorica  and 
the  British  isle.  What  new  things  were  thus  sung  of  him  by 
Briton  Jongleurs,  who  early  acquired  great  celebrity,  were 
repeated  in  Normandy,  in  Anjou,  and  soon  in  the  rest  of 
France,  in  the  French  language,  and  the  conditions  were 
probably  similar  in  England.  As  early  as  the  time  of  Wace, 
the  Britons  recounted  many  fables  of  the  Round  Table, 
which  Arthur  was  said  to  have  founded.  Geoffrey  does  not 
seem  to  have  known  anything  of  this  institution;  Wace  was 
content  to  mention  its  establishment,  but  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders  at  the  stories  connected  with  it.  The  doubtful 
quality  of  the  materials  involved  in  his  work,  made  him  all 
the  more  cautious  with  regard  to  oral  tradition.  Nothing 
less  than  the  authority  of  a  grave  Latin  author  would  suffice 
to  make  the  Arthurian  legend  in  any  way  credible  to  him, 
and  he  would  give  nothing  but  the  truth.  In  a  later  poem^ 
he  alluded  to  a  forest  of  Broceliande  and  the  marvellous 
spring,  which,  according  to  Briton  stories,  was  to  be  found 
there,  but  he  added  that  he  had  visited  the  spot  and  expe- 
rienced no  miracles.  Wace's  additions  to  the  narrative  of 
Geoffrey  are  inconsiderable ;  he  owes  them  chiefly  to  Latin 
sources,  especially  to  legends  of  the  saints.  He  is  wont, 
however,  to  expand  and  adorn  the  narrative  of  his  author  in 
the  description  of  battles,  festivals,  and  the  like;  as  for  in- 
stance, when  music  is  given,  he  enumerates  the  different 
kinds  of  instruments  used.     According  to  mediaeval  stand- 

^  And  at  last  simply  Briit.  Thence  in  more  recent  times  it  was  called  Ro7nan  (U 
Brut,  that  Brutus  doubtless  being  meant  from  whom  the  Britons  were  said  to  be  de- 
scended.    In  Cymric,  however,  Brut  means  history ,  chronicle. 

*  In  the  Ro  nance  0/  RoUo. 


142  THE  TRANSITION  PKRIOD. 

ards  he  is  in  this  not  disloyal  to  his  authority ;  but  the  entire 
tone  of  the  work  thus  becomes  more  animated  and  richly 
coloured,  and  distinctly  reflects  the  chivalric  age  to  which 
Wace  belonged. 

In  later  years  Wace  began,  in  honour  of  his  royal  patron, 
who  was  descended  from  the  race  of  Rollo  (Hrolf),  a  history 
of  the  Normans,  Geste  des  Normans,  now  generally  known 
under  the  name  Roman  de  Ron.  This  work  apparently  suf- 
fered a  long  interruption  before  he  had  finished  the  reign  of 
Duke  Richard  I.,  and  was  then  continued  by  him  to  the  year 
1106.  When  he  laid  down  his  pen  (after  1170),  he  had  lost 
the  favour  of  the  king,  of  whose  parsimony  he  complains,  and 
another  had  been  made  historiographer  in  his  place.  The 
Romance  of  Rollo  worthily  closes  the  works  of  the  patriotic 
poet.  In  this  Wace  relates  the  history  of  his  race  and  of  his 
dukes,  founding  it  upon  the  historical  books  of  Dudo  de  St. 
Quentin  and  William  de  Jumiege.s,  as  well  as  other,  in  part, 
unknown  authorities.  His  style  is  pleasing  and  animated, 
and  on  certain  occasions,  as  in  the  portrayal  of  the  battle  of 
Senlac,  the  rich  abundance  of  details  and  the  enthusiasm 
which  breathes  in  the  simple  words  of  the  poet,  do  not  fail 
to  produce  a  strong  effect.  He  frequently  drew  from  oral 
traditions,  when  trustworthy  persons  and  not  jongleurs  were 
their  bearers.  He  interwove  many  tales  bequeathed  from 
father  to  son,  and  told  them  so  well  that  Uhland  deemed 
some  of  them  worthy  of  translation.  Unfortunately  we  have 
in  its  original  form  only  the  second,  though  much  the  larger 
part  of  the  Romance  of  Rollo.  We  know  the  first  part  only 
through  a  later  recast,  in  which  the  metre  in  the  portion  be- 
ginning with  the  appearance  of  Rollo  is  changed,  Wace's 
short  couplets  being  converted  into  epic  tirades  of  Alexan- 
drines.^ 

Wace  may  pass  for  the  typical  representative  of  the  older 
Norman  poesy,  in  so  far  as  it  is  not  clothed  in  popular  forms. 
The  characteristics  of  this  poetry  are  scarcely  anywhere  re- 
vealed so  fully  as  with  him  ;  in  his  manner,  severity  and  re- 

'  At  the  beginning  of  the  part  in  Alexandrines,  the  poet  says  he  intends  to  shorten 
the  '*vers."  Vers  of  course  does  not  mean  lines,  but  as  usual,  rhythmical  sections  of 
some  length,  and  these  do  certainly  become  shorter,  the  contents  being  the  same,  when 
the  measures  which  compose  them  grow  lyncher.  Hut  since  the  sections  formed  out  of 
rhyming  couplets  are  determined  only  by  the  subject-matter,  and  may  therefore  vary 
greatly  in  length,  this  remark  only  has  meaning  if  ihe  writer  of  the  Alexandrines  had 
short  couplets  before  him,  which  he  remodelled  in  the  epic  measure. 


THE  ENGLISH  ANNALS.  I43 

serve  are  mingled  with  a  sort  of  playful  naivete.  The  dic- 
tion has  no  great  sweep  or  fulness,  though  it  by  no  means 
lacks  finish  and  elegance.  It  is  preeminently  simple  and 
transparent,  and  moves  easily  in  smoothly  flowing  short 
couplets.  His  expression  is  laconic,  and  given  to  antithesis, 
beiag  well  adapted  to  convey  the  popular  proverbial  wisdom. 
The  same  idea  is  usually  expressed  by  the  same  word,  so  that 
there  is  no  lack  of  emphatical  repetitions.  The  same  thought 
sometimes  reappears  in  a  new  form,  either  directly  after  the 
form  first  chosen,  or  after  an  interval,  at  the  close  of  a  digres- 
sion, when  the  poet  returns  with  eas^e  and  precision  into  the 
direct  path.  He  likes  to  amplify  in  enumeration.  But  no- 
where is  there  a  massing  of  phrase  or  varying  repetitions 
which  would  impair  clearness  and  smoothness.  Nowhere 
do  we  feel  that  his  is  a  soul  stirred  by  passion,  that  seeks  to 
correct  and  surpass  itself  in  expression;  sequence  is  never 
broken,  nor  the  logico- grammatical  structure  of  the  sentence 
disturbed. 

The  poet  works  more  from  the  head  than  the  heart;  and 
since  his  thought  is  not  very  deep  nor  his  fancy  very  lofty, 
\^f^  is  able  to  instruct  and  amuse,  but  neither  to  thrill  nor  to 
exaic. 

IV. 

The  English  language  could  not  maintain  itself  in  the  fore- 
ground of  Hterature  against  the  twofold  competition  of  the 
Latin,  which  more  than  ever  held  the  ear  of  scholars,  and 
of  the  Anglo-Norman  which  was  the  idiom  of  power  and 
of  fashion.  It  witlidrew  more  and  more  into  obscurity,  as 
if  to  gather  strength  for  better  times. 

The  fortunes  of  the  English  Annals  were  most  significant 
in  this  respect. 

The  Parker  manuscript  of  the  Amials  of  Winchester  had 
been  kept  in  Christ  Church,  Canterbury,  since  the  first  half 
of  the  eleventh  century.  Soon  after  Lanfranc's  elevation  to 
the  archbishopric,  eleven  scattered  entries,  covering  the  pe- 
riod from  1005  to  1070,  were  there  made  in  this  manuscript. 
They  consist,  in  the  main,  of  matters  pertaining  to  Canter- 
bury. The  last  refers  to  the  new  primate  and  his  dispute 
with  the  archbishop  Thomas  of  York.     Then  ensues  a  silence 


144  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

until  long  after  Lanfranc's  death,  when  a  writer  appears  v/ho. 
in  a  connected  narrative  and  in  Latin,  treats  of  the  time  of 
Lanfranc's  primacy.  Ecclesiastical  affairs  are  especially  con- 
sidered, and  time  is  computed  according  to  the  number  of 
years  elapsed  since  the  archbishop's  ordination.  The  record 
closes  with  a  mention  of  the  election  and  consecration  of 
Anselm. 

The  national  annals  fared  better  in  Worcester.  The 
archiepiscopal  seat  there  was  held,  from  1062  until  1095,  by 
that  Wulfstan  who  was  accused  of  illiteracy  to  William  the 
Conqueror,  though  unsuccessfully,  by  Lanfranc,  and  who 
certainly  possessed  neither  the  classical  culture  nor  the  dia- 
lectical skill  of  the  Norman  prelates.  His  mind  was,  how- 
ever, as  acute  and  well  informed  as  his  character  was  ener- 
getic and  upright ;  nor  did  he  in  any  respect  lack  interest  in 
scholarship,  particularly  in  history.  At  his  commission  the 
sub-prior  Hemming  compiled  a  cartulary  of  the  church  of 
Worcester.  The  monk  Colman,  Wulfstan's  chaplain,  and 
prior  of  Westbury  by  his  promotion,  wrote,  after  the  death  of 
his  patron,  his  life  in  English.  According  to  William  of 
IMalmesbury,  this  work,  as  to  matter,  was  written  with  seri- 
ous grace  ( lepo re  gravi)  ;  as  to  form,  with  artless  simplicity 
( sinipUcitate  rtidi).  The  Worcester  Annals  were  also  con- 
tinued under  W\ilfstan.  We  find  an  annalist  in  the  last  quarter 
of  the  tweKöi  century  whose  productions  have  a  certain 
breadth  and  depth  of  thought,  together  with  a  touch  of 
melancholy,  and  who  is  one  of  the  best  writers  in  his  sphere. 
He  seems  to  have  been  conversant  with  Wulfstan,  and  may 
be  identical  with  Colman,  however  plain  that  writers  lan- 
guage might  appear  to  a  William  of  Malmesbury.  Our  an- 
nalist sketches  the  character  of  the  mighty  conqueror  whom 
he  saw  with  his  own  eyes,  as  follows : 

King  William,  of  ^vhom  we  speak,  was  a  very  wise  and  very  power- 
ful man,  and  more  stately  and  strong  than  any  of  his  predecessors. 
He  was  mild  toward  the  good  man  who  loved  God,  but  beyond  meas- 
ure severe  toward  those  who  opposed  his  will.  .  .  He  made  earls  pris- 
oners who  acted  against  his  will.  Bishops  he  put  out  of  their  bishop- 
rics, and  abbots  out  of  their  abbacies,  and  he  cast  thegns  into  prison, 
and  at  last  he  spared  not  his  own  brother  Odo.  .  .  Among  other  things 
is  not  to  be  forgotten  the  good  peace  which  he  made  in  this  land,  so 
that  a  man  who  himself  took  heed  might  travel  through  his  kingdon? 


ANNALS  OF  PETERBOROUGH.  145 

unharmed  with  his  bosom  full  of  gold;  and  no  man  dared  slay  another, 
though  he  had  done  never  so  much  evil  against  him.  .  .1 

The  work  of  this  Worcester  annalist  is  preserved  to  us  in 
a  compilation  made  at  Peterborough.  This  extant  Worcester 
recension  extends  only  to  the  year  1079. 

In  the  year  11 16  a  conflagration  destroyed  the  minster  at  ^ 
Peterborough,  with  nearly  all  the  adjacent  buildings,  and 
certainly  the  greater  part  of  the  existing  books  and  records. 
This  gave  occasion  as  well  for  the  building  of  a  new  minster 
as  for  the  drawing  up  of  a  new  set  of  annals.  The  work 
seems  to  have  been  started  about  the  year  1 12 1.  The  great- 
est care  and  pains  were  taken,  certainly  less  in  the  interest 
of  historical  truth  than  of  the  monasterv,  things  which  fort- 
unately  did  not  always  clash.  Variojas  authorities  were 
used ;  as  the  Annals  of  Winchester  and  Abingdon,  and  for 
the  later  period  particularly,  those  of  Worcester,  whence 
a  revision  reaching  to  the  year  11^)7  seems^to  have  beet  re- 
ceived. Local  knowledge^ was  also^used,  and.a  number  ^f 
false  records  were  skilfully  interpQ^lated,  which  were  to  cer-^* 
tify  to  ancient  gifts  and  privileges  conferred  upon  the  abbey. 
Thus  a  complete  whole  was  put  together,  extending  to  the ' 
year  1121.  It  is  entertaining  reading;  excellent  passages 
of  serious  interest  alternate  with  edifying,  sometimes  with 
idyllic  information,  as  accounts  of  the  weather  or  crops. 

This  compilation  plainly  manifests,  on  the  one  hand,  a 
more  limited  range,  narrowed  by  monasticism,  in  contrast 
with  the  national  standing-point  of  most  of  the  older  annal- 
ists ;  on  the  other  hand,  it  indicates  an  effort  to  secure  literary 
effects  by  the  selection  of  what  is  attractive  in  the  historical 
material,  a  tendency  which  later  constantly  spread  in  Latin 
historiography.  The  Aniials  of  Peterborough  were  appar- 
ently continued  with  Httle  interruption  from  1122  to  1131. 
Then,  after  the  lapse  of  several  years  (as  shown  by  the  more 
modern  cast  of  the  language),  the  period  from  1132  to  1154 
was  described  by  a  not  untalented  hand.  With  the  opening 
of  Henry  II, 's  reign,  the  thread  of  the  Enghsh  Annals  was 
broken  off  in  this  last  workshop.  Gaimar  had  already  writ- 
ten his  history  of  the  Britons  and  the  Angles,  and  Wace  was 
working  at  his  Brut.  A  Latin  chronicle  was  kept  at  Peter- 
borough after  1122,  and,  as  in  11 17  Florence  had  mainly 

*  Earle,  p.  221,  et  seq. 
K 


146  Tut  TRAKSiTiÖN  PEftlOO. 

adopted  the  substance  of  the  English  Annals  of  Worcestef 
in  his  Chronicon  ex  chrojiicis^  so  Hugo  Candidus  Hkewise 
embodied  those  of  Peterborough,  though  to  a  less  extent,  in 
his  Coenobii  Burgensis  /listoria,  which  he  finished  in  1155. 

The  religious  needs  of  divines  and  laymen  insured  the 
theological  literature  in  the  English  language  against  com- 
plete extinction.  The  works  of  famous  homilists  of  former 
times  were  still  diligently  copied  and  read.  The  words  were 
in  part  modernised  by  the  scribe ;  obsolete  and  difficult  ex- 
pressions were  replaced  by  more  current  phrase.  An  error 
sometimes  betrays  the  hand  which  converted  older  into  more 
modern  characters.  But  this  work  was  not  confined  to  copy- 
ing and  paraphrasing;  there  were  compilations  and  imita- 
tions, and  passages  from  ancient  authors  w^re  inserted  in 
later  writings.  It  is  not  easy,  without  the  help  of  externaF 
criteria,  to  set  apart,  in  the  extant  collections  of  homilies  of 
this  epoch,  the  portions  belonging  to  different  minds  and 
times.  But  there  is  no  doubt  that  this  hterature  is,  in  essence, 
partly  a  renewal,  and  partly  a  reflection  of  the  labours  of  the 
tenth  and  eleventh  centuries.  It  was  nourished  particularly 
by  the  spirit  of  Aelfric.  The  homilies  of  the  great  abbot 
were  more  than  once  copied,  modernised,  imitated.  Pas- 
sages relating  to  the  eucharist  and  opposed  to  the  orthodox 
doctrine,  victoriously  defended  by  Lanfranc,  were  wont  to  be 
erased.  Aelfric's  potent  word,  however,  reached  the  people 
but  slightly  altered.  The  Norman  preachers  had  in  truth 
nothing  better  to  offer  their  hearers. 

The  translation  of  the  Gospels  made  in  the  first  half  of  the 
eleventh  century,  also  appeared  in  modernised  form,  in  the 
course  of  the  twelfth  (Hatton  Gospels) ;  new  glosses  to  the 
psalter  and  a  new  version  of  the  ^ule  of  St.  Benedict  were 
written.  There  was  indeed  some  activity  in  natural  science 
and  medicine.  A  newly  prepared  illustrated  manuscript  of 
the  Herbarinni  Apiileii  was  provided  with  English  glosses. 
The  Old  English  Herbarium.,  based  upon  Apuleius  and 
Dioskorides,  together  with  the  Medicijia  de  quad7'iipedibus., 
was  modernised,  though  not  without  change  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  matter,  and  with  many  omissions  and  additions. 
AVe  may  perhaps  likewise  regard  the  collection  of  recipes 
which  appeared  at  this  time  as  a  copy  or  working  over  of  an 
older  English  original,  and  hardly  as  a  direct  translation 


Ei^GLlStt  LANGUAGE.  147 

from  Latin  sources.  From  the  brief  review  of  the  more  an- 
cient history  of  medicine  with  which  it  opens,  it  has  received 
the  title  peri  didaxeoji  [nepl  Sida^eoDv),  i.  e.,  "  of  the 
schools,"  or  "  of  the  systems  of  doctrine." 

This  entire  prose  literature  of  the  twelfth  century,  especial- 
ly the  horailetic,  is  exceedingly  attractive  and  important  to 
the  grammarian. 

For  we  see  that  the  English  language  in  this  period  un- 
derwent a  momentous  transformation,  which  was  very  grad- 
ually consummated,  yet  after  the  middle  of  the  century,  with 
a  somewhat  accelerated  movement.  Many  sounds,  particu- 
larly among  the  vowels,  were  modified,  the  value  of  unac- 
cented final  syllables  was  weakened,  former  distinctions  were 
obUterated,  and  the  inflections  were  becoming  deranged. 
Certain  words  of  the  vocabulary  came  to  be  rarely  used,  or 
disappeared  entirely  as  others  took  their  place.  The  lan- 
guage was  roughened  and  impoverished. 

The  influence  of  Norman  rule  was  more  negative  than 
direct  in  this  regard.  The  language  followed  its  natural 
course  of  development.  When  the  national  state  ceased,  the 
unity  of  the  literary  language  crumbled ;  provincial  and  pop- 
ular elements  invaded  it  from  all  sides.  Hence,  in  the  liter- 
ary monuments,  which,  as  we  saw,  were  chiefly  the  work  of 
the  scribe  or  compiler,  the  language  was  chaotic  and  heter- 
ogeneous; ancient  forms  strove  with  new  ones  for  prece- 
dence, until  toward  the  close  of  the  century,  when  victory 
decidedly  inchned  to  the  latter. 

This  language  was  still  entirely  Teutonic,  both  in  its  struct- 
ure and  component  parts.  A  hardly  appreciable  number  of 
Romance  elements  entered  its  vocabulary  (mainly  in  the 
second  half  of  the  century),  and  as  a  rule  they  did  not  at 
once  displace  the  corresponding  English  vocables.  They 
chiefly  concerned,  as  was  to  be  expected,  things  and  ideas 
connected  with  church  and  cult,  with  the  constitution  of  the 
feudal  state,  the  military  system,  or  the  external  life  of  a 
feudal-chivalric  society.  Words  like  castel,  jiistise,  prisun^ 
on  Saxon  lips,  are  to  us  very  significant. 


148  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

V. 

The  English  popular  song  had  not  been  silenced  .mder 
Norman  rule;  and  surely  the  people  did  not  sing  such 
songs  only  as  that  whose  beginning  the  monk  of  Ely  gives 
us  in  the  history  of  his  church/  naming  as  the  poet  King 
Cuut  himself: 

Merie  sungen  muneches  binnen  Ely, 
""       Tha  Cnut  chyning  reu  ther  by  ; 

Roweth,  cnihtes,  noer  the  land, 

And  here  -we  thes  muneches  sang. 
Merrily  sang  the  monks  in  Ely,  as  Cnut  the  king  rowed  by ;  row, 
knights,  near  the  land,  and  let  us  hear  the  song  of  these  monks — 

"With  many  other  words,  quae  bisque  hodie  (in  11 66)  i?i 
choris  publice  caritaJitur  et  in  prcrcerbiis  7?ie?fwra?!tur."  Wil- 
Ham  of  Malmesbury  tells  us  that  in  his  day  men  sang  upon 
the  open  street  of  the  marriage  of  Gunhild,  the  daughter  of 
Cnut,  with  the  Emperor  Henry.  Undoubtedly  were  heard 
also  historical  songs  of  another  kind — songs  of  battle  and 
strife. 

The  ancient  epos  hardly  survived,  yet  many  a  bit  of  epic 
saga  was  transmitted,  if  in  modified  form :  as,  the  saga  of 
the  ancient  epic  king  of  the  Angles,  Offa,  which  had  been 
transferred  to  the  srreat  Offa  of  Mercia.  The  Middle  Ens;- 
lish  poem  of  Wade,  to  which  Chaucer  alludes, — it  is  unfort- 
unately lost — was,  without  doubt,  based  upon  traditions,  as 
well  as  songs,  which  vrere  surely  circulated  in  the  twelfth 
century,  as  they  had  been  earher;  for  this  Wade,  as  the 
book  ascribed  to  him  attests,  was  no  other  than  the  ancient 
Wada  (old  Norse  Vadi,  M.  H.  G.  Wate),  the  father  of  We- 
land.  The  name  of  Weland  the  Smith  appeared  in  the 
poetry  of  the  fourteenth  century,  and  in  certain  districts  it 
has  remained  current  among  the  English  people  far  into 
modern  times. 

Mythological  conceptions  were  still  strong  among  the  peo- 
ple. English  writers  of  the  twelfth  century  related  many 
marvellous  things  of  elves  and  other  supernatural  beings,  and 
the  fairies  of  Romance  origin  were  now  added  to  them. 
The  ancient  gods  also  survived,  though  shorn  of  much  of 
their  greatness,  and  with  new  names.     It  may  have  been  in 

1  HisL  El.  II.,  27;  Gale,  p.  505.  We  have  ventured  to  make  two  slight  changes  io 
the  text 


POPULAR  HEROES.  I49 

this  period,  or  a  little  later,  that  Woden  received  the  name 
Robin,  which  is  the  French  popular  form  for  the  German 
Ruprecht ;  the  latter  reminds  us  more  vividly  of  the  ancient 
title  of  the  god,  Hruodperaht  [i.  e.,  splendid  in  fame).  Robin 
Goodfellow  corresponds  to  the  German  Kjiecht  Ruprecht. 
But  in  the  saga  of  Robin  Hood,  the  ancient  conception  of 
the  wild  huntsman  (likewise  connected  with  Woden)  seems 
to  have  been  transferred  from  heaven  to  earth,  thus  receiv- 
ing the  more  prosaic  earthly  form  of  a  bold  poacher  and 
outlaw. 

Such  outlaws  were  at  all  times  favourite  popular  heroes, 
but  this  was  especially  true  in  the  Norman  period,  when  (at 
the  beginning  at  least)  a  sort  of  national,  and  even  patriotic, 
feeling  was  mingled  with  the  sympathetic  admiration  for 
them,  and  when  the  terrible  severity  of  the  game  laws  drew 
down  the  bitterest  hatred  upon  those  who  had  to  see  them 
executed.  The  poetic  fancy,  therefore,  early  took  possession 
of  the  history  of  such  heroes. 

The  Latin  account  of  the  deeds  of  Hereward  the  Saxon, 
who,  with  a  few  followers,  defied  the  power  of  the  conqueror 
in  the  marshes  of  Ely,  contains,  beyond  all  question,  both 
truth  and  poetry,  and  it  arose,  to  judge  from  appearances, 
in  the  first  part  of  the  twelfth  century.  It  may  here  be 
noted  that  the  author  of  the  Gesta  Herewardi  Saxonis  men- 
tions, as  one  of  his  authorities,  the  history  of  Hereward's 
youth  from  the  pen  of  Leofric  of  Brun,  a  priest  in  Here- 
ward's service.  He  says  that  this  Leofric  had  endeavoured 
to  become  acquainted  with  the  deeds  of  the  giants  and  war- 
riors from  ancient  tales  (fabulis)^  or  from  trustworthy  state- 
ments, and  to  record  them,  which  he  seems  to  have  done  in 
the  English  language.^ 

At  a  later  time,  Norman  barons  also  were  proscribed,  as 
in  the  case  of  Fulke  Fitz  Warin,  under  King  John.  He  was 
celebrated  in  an  Anglo-Norman  poem  which  has  come  to  us 
in  a  prose  recast;  there  was  besides  an  imitation  in  English 
verse. 

Among  the  sagas  current  in  the  twelfth  century  are  some 
which  extend  to  the  Old  English  period,  but  in  substance 
they  have  no  connection   with  the  subject-matter  of  the 

'  The  expression  ob  meinoriam  Angliae  Uteris  commendare  {^Chroniques  anglo-tior» 
mandes,  1 1.  2)  is  peculiar  and  ambiguous. 


150  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

ancient  epos.  Their  historical  background  is  formed  by  the 
inroads  and  settlement  of  the  Danes,  and  the  relations  be- 
tween England  and  Denmark  growing  out  of  them.  Hence 
they  may  have  been  chiefly  native  to  eastern  England.  They 
reached  a  fair  degree  of  completeness,  in  part  in  the  eleventh, 
in  part  perhaps  not  before  the  twelfth  century;  but  they  were 
still  quite  susceptible  of  new  growths  and  transformadons. 
They  were  evidenUy  a  favourite  theme  of  the  English  glee- 
men,  who  never  lacked  willing  hearers  among  the  people, 
although  deeply  degraded  from  their  former  position,  and 
eclipsed  by  {oxQ\g\\  Jo?igIeurs  and  menestrels.  Even  Norman 
poets  did  not  disdain  to  handle  such  material,  more  or  less 
closely  following  their  English  models;  and  their  method  ot 
treatment  was  not  without  influence  upon  the  form  given  to 
these  sagas  by  the  national  poesy.  The  course  of  develop- 
ment of  this  glee-men's  poetry  was  determined  still  more 
decisively  by  the  manners  of  the  time,  now  being  transformed 
by  Norman-French  influence,  and  by  the  new  views  and 
ideas  that  filled  the  air. 

This  influence  is  plainly  evident  in  the  saga  of  Hojit^ 
which,  although  possibly  of  somewhat  older  origin,  did  not 
receive  the  form  in  which  it  has  come  to  us  until  a  later  day; 
whereas,  the  saga  of  Havelok^  as  we  must  conclude  from  Gai- 
mar's  account,  was  definitely  settled  in  its  main  outlines  as  early 
as  the  beginning  of  the  twelfth  century.  Both  sagas  have  to  do 
with  a  king's  son,  who  either  flees  or  is  driven  over  the  sea  to 
a  foreign  land ;  he  tarries  there  many  years,  and,  after  numer- 
ous adventures,  reconquers  his  kingdom  and  takes  revenge  on 
his  enemies.  A  princess  next  appears  in  both  sagas,  the  bride 
or  spouse  of  the  hero ;  but  while  the  passion  of  love  virtually 
plays  no  part  in  Havelok^  it  forms  in  Hor?i  the  very  centre 
of  interest.  In  Havelok  the  geographical,  if  not  the  histor- 
ical, points  of  union  with  fact  are  clearly  defined.  The 
Horn-saga  is  inextricably  confused  in  both  these  respects. 

Both  sagas  emerged  in  English  poetry  soon  after  the  mid- 
dle of  the  thirteenth  century. 

The  sagas  of  Guy  of  Warwick  and  Bevis  of  Hampton^  less 
primitive,  seem  to  have  sprung  from  a  combination  of  local 
traditions,  historical  reminiscences,  current  fabulous  and  ro- 
mantic themes,  and  pure  invention.  They  were  first  treated 
by  Anglo- Norman  poets,  and  after  them,  in  English  verse, 


PROVERBS  OF  AELFRED.  I5I 

The  saga  of  Waltheof  m^Lj  take  an  intermediate  position. 
We  readily  discern  in  its  contents,  taking  into  account  the 
name  of  the  hero,  the  historical  nucleus,  however  distorted 
it  may  be.  The  English  poem  on  Waltheof  is  lost;  the 
French  romance  of  IValdef,  which  is  said  to  be  an  imitation 
of  it,  has  not  yet  been  published,  and  was,  until  a  short  time 
ago,  practically  inaccessible.  There  is,  however,  a  Latin 
prose  translation  ^  dating  from  the  beginning  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  whose  author  was  John  Bramis,  a  monk  of  Thet- 
ford  near  Ely,  and  who  seems  for  a  part  to  have  used  the 
English  original ;  for  the  rest,  the  French  text. 

Many  a  memory  from  the  more  ancient  period  of  its  his- 
tory may  still  have  been  living  among  the  English  peo- 
ple in  the  twelfth  century.  But  above  all  shone  forth  the 
image  of  King  Aelfred,  that  had  descended  from  father 
to  son  as  a  precious  heirloom.  Single  features  had  been  im- 
paired, and  some  new  traits  added,  but  in  the  main  it  was 
like  the  original :  the  ruler  who  loved  his  subjects  as  did  no 
other,  the  man  of  power  and  gentleness,  who  was  at  once 
king,  father,  and  teacher  of  his  people. 

From  this  latter  office,  Aelfred  came  gradually  to  be  re- 
garded as  a  source  of  popular  wisdom.  A  number  of  prov- 
erbs and  maxims  were  ascribed  to  him. 

There  existed,  in  the  twelfth  century,  collections  of  gnomic 
poems  with  the  tide  Proverbs  {^Parabolce)  or  Precepts  [Docu- 
tnenta)  of  Aelfred,  These  were  given  to  posterity  in  several 
versions,  varying  in  compass,  arrangement,  and,  partly,  in 
contents. 

A  few  recensions  from  the  thirteenth  century  are  preserved; 
the  existence  of  others  is  proved  by  citations  in  a  contempo- 
rary poem.  Three  distinct  parts  have  recently  been  pointed 
out  in  the  more  complete  text;  though  it  is  still  doubtful  if 
they  really  owe  their  origin  to  three  different  epochs,  since 
ancient  and  modern  matters  are  intermingled  within  the 
compass  of  shorter  sections. 

The  opening  of  the  poem  shows  King  Aelfred  seated  in 
solemn  assembly,  surrounded  by  the  great  men  of  his  realm : 

At  Seaford  sat  many  thegns,  many  bishops,  and  many  book-learned 
men,  proud  earls,  warlike  knights.     There  was  the  eorl  Alfrich,  who 

'  See  on  this  subject  Wright,  Essays  on  S-tibjects  connected  with  the  Literature  etc, 
(^  England  in  the  Middle  Ages,  II.,  97,  et  seq. 


152  THE  TR.\NSITION  PERIOD. 

was  very  learned  in  the  law,  and  also  Alfred,  the  shepherd  of  the  Angles, 
the  Angles'  darling,  in  England  he  was  king.  Them  he  began  to  teach, 
as  ye  may  hear,  how  they  their  life  should  lead.  Alfred  was  a  very 
strong  king  in  England.  He  was  king  and  he  was  clerk,  well  he  loved 
God's  work.  He  was  wise  in  word  and  prudent  in  works.  He  was  the 
wisest  man  in  England. 

Then  follow  the  admonitions  and  proverbs  in  sections,  each 
of  which  begins  with  the  words  :  ]>7/s  que\  A  lured  ( ^pus  quad 
Alfred).  Piety,  Avisdom,  justice,  diligence,  the  transitoriness 
of  life,  the  vanity  of  earthly  possessions,  such  are  the  topics 
treated.  More  specific  precepts  for  special  emergencies  and 
rules  of  worldly  wisdom  are  added  to  these;  prudence  in 
the  choice  of  a  wife  and  shrewd  management  of  the  spouse 
are  very  urgently  enjoined. 

Thus  quoth  Alfred :  be  never  so  mad  nor  so  drunk  with  wine,  as  to 
say  all  thy  will  to  thy  wife.  For  should  she  see  thee  before  all  thy 
foes,  and  thou  hadst  angered  her  with  words,  she  would  not  refrain 
for  any  living  thing  from  upbraiding  thee  with  thy  times  of  adversity. 
Woman  is  word-mad  and  hath  a  too  swift  tongue.  If  she  would,  she 
cannot  rule  it.* 

The  metrical  form  in  which  these  proverbs  of  Aelfred  are 
clothed  is  of  moment.  In  them  we  find  the  ancient  long 
line  in  the  midst  of  its  transformation  into  the  short  couplet. 
Alliteration,  imperfectly  carried  out  and  often  too  lavishly 
employed,  alternates  with,  or  accompanies  rhyme,  which, 
like  the  alliteration,  connects  the  two  halves  of  a  long  line.^ 
But  the  rhyme  falls  upon  the  final  syllables  of  the  members 
of  the  line  which  it  binds;  further,  unlike  the  alliteration,  it 
can  make  no  difference  between  the  first  and  second  half- 
line;  hence  it  makes  us  feel — as  we  have  already  pointed 
out — that  what  it  joins  is  dual,  is  a  pair.  The  following  seems 
clearly  a  unit : 

ivxi  and  ■zt'isdom — and  izcriten  rede, 
and  in  spite  of  the  massing  of  alliteration,  the  following  is 
also  felt  to  be  a  imit : 

He  wes  ?cäs  on  his  zc'ord — and  war  on  his  7£/erke. 
But  in  the  line, 

He  wes  king  and  he  wes  clerk — well  he  luuede  godes  werk 

*  Proverbs  of  Alfred,  No.  17  ;  in  Kemble,  Dialogzte  of  Sahttwn  and  Satumus,  p. 
235  et  seq. 

2  As  a  matter  of  course,  the  rhj-me  is  more  consistently  used,  the  alliteration  more 
deranged,  in  some  proverbs  than  in  others.  The  former  are  not  necessarily  older  ihas 
the  latter  on  this  account. 


POEM  A  MORALE.  1 53 

we  perceive  a  rhyming  couplet,  and  the  alliteration,  confined 
to  the  short  Hne  (-^ing,  derk — wel,  werk)  seems  merely  an 
ornament. 

We  noted  the  same  or  similar  peculiarities  of  form  in  a 
few  poems  of  the  eleventh  century,  especially  in  the  song  on 
Aetheling  Aelfred  (for  the  year  1036).  If  we  place  later 
products  side  by  side  with  them,  we  are  compelled  to  con- 
clude that  the  popular  poetry  of  the  twelfth  century,  so  far 
as  it  was  original,  ranged  chiefly  within  such  forms  as  these. 


VI. 

Rhyme  soon  came  into  use  also  in  strictly  religious  poetry, 
to  which  the  Proverbs  of  Aelfred  can  hardly  be  said  to  be- 
long. The  ancient  long  Hne,  it  is  true,  seems  to  have  been 
longer  retained  intact  in  this  poetry.  We  have  from  the 
twelfth  century  two  poetical  speeches  of  the  soul  to  the 
body,  one  of  which  is  almost  exclusively  written  in  aUitera- 
tion,  although  this  is  oftentimes  not  employed  in  strict  ac- 
cordance with  the  rule. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  ecclesiastical  poets  began  early  to 
make  use  of  quite  new  forms,  taken  from  foreign  models ; 
forms  which,  in  spite  of  probable  ancient  relationship,  differ 
more  radically  from  the  indigenous  forms  than  may  appear 
at  a  superficial  view.  For  in  them  lives  the  rhythm  of  a 
foreign  language  which  now  began  to  affect  the  English. 

These  new  rhythms  appeared  first  in  the  south  of  England, 
from  w^hich  fact,  however,  no  hasty  inferences  must  be 
drawn. 

In  the  district  lying  between  the  Avon  and  the  Stour, 
where  join  the  boundaries  of  three  counties,  Dorset,  Wilts, 
and  Hants,  originated,  perhaps  as  early  as  the  reign  of  Henry 
I.,  the  poem  known  in  the  history  of  literature  as  the  Foef?ia 
morale.  It  is  a  sermon  in  verse,  but  it  rises  above  the  level 
of  its  class,  by  a  greater  freedom  of  movement  and  by  the 
admixture  of  a  subjective,  even  lyrical  element. 

The  preacher  begins  by  alluding  with  melancholy  to  his 
advanced  age,  to  his  life  that  has  sped  without  his  having 
much  profited  from  it: 


154  THE  TR^VNSITION  PERIOD. 

I  am  now  older  than  I  was,  in  winters  and  in  lore, 
I  wield  more  pDwer  than  I  did  :  were  but  my  wisdom  more. 

Too  long  have  I  been  like  a  child  in  word  and  eke  in  deed; 
Yet,  though  I  am  in  winters  old,  too  young  am  I  in  heed. 

JNIethinks  my  life  a  useless  one,  like  to  the  one  I've  led; 
And  when  I  ponder  on  it  well,  full  sorely  I  dread, 

For  almost  all  that  I  have  done  befits  unto  childhood, 
And  very  late  have  me  bethought,  unless  God  helps  to  good. 

I've  spoken  many  idle  words  since  I  to  speak  was  able, 
Full  many  deeds  I've  done  that  now  seem  most  unprofitable. 

And  almost  all  that  I  once  liked  is  hateful  now  to  me : 
Who  follows  overmuch  his  will,  himself  deceiveth  he. 

I  might  in  truth  have  better  done  had  my  ill-luck  been  less  ; 
Now  that  I  would,  I  can  no  more  for  age  and  helplessness. 

Old  Age  his  foot-step  on  me  stole  ere  I  his  coming  wist : 
I  could  not  see  before  me  for  the  dark  smoke  and  the  mist. 

Laggards  we  are  in  doing  good,  in  evil  all  too  bold ; 
Men  stand  in  greater  fear  of  man  than  of  the  Christ  of  old. 

Who  doth  not  well  the  while  he  may,  repenting  oft  shall  rue 
The  day  when  men  shall  mow  and  reap  what  they  erstwhile  did  strew. 

Thus  the  poet  admonishes  every  man  not  to  let  the  time 
pass  away  unemployed,  but  to  lay  up  good  works  in  heaven, 
to  depend  upon  nobody,  but  to  provide  for  himself.  In 
heaven  our  treasure  is  safely  stored,  thither  we  should  send 
what  we  hold  best.  Ever}^body  can  gain  heaven  for  him- 
self, since  God  is  content  with  little :  He  looks  at  the  will. 
God  knows  and  sees  all  things.  Then  what  shall  we  say  or 
do  at  the  last  judgment,  which  even  the  angels  fear  ?  The 
poet  speaks  in  two  places  of  the  last  judgment;  twice  he 
depicts  the  torments  of  hell,  drawing  from  the  treasure  of 
mediaeval  tradition.  The  description  of  the  souls  struggling 
from  the  heat  to  the  cold,  and  from  the  cold  to  the  heat  is 
very  graphic.  The  frost  seems  a  blessing  to  them  when  in 
the  fire,  the  fire  when  in  the  frost.  They  move  resdessly  to 
and  fro  like  water  before  the  wind.  "  These  be  they  who 
were  inconstant  in  mind,  who  made  to  God  promises  they 
did  not  keep,  who  began  a  good  work  and  did  not  fin- 
ish it,  who  now  were  here,  now  there,  and  did  not  know 
their  own  minds."  The  preacher  then  proceeds  to  the  means 
by  which  we  may  shield  ourselves  against  hell :  the  essence 
of  all  God's  commandments  lies  in  love  to  Him  and  to  our 
neighbour.  He  warns  men  against  the  broad  road  that  easily 
goes  do\\Ti  through  a  dark  wood  into  a  barren  field,  and  com- 
mends the  straight  and  narrow  path  that  leads  to  heaven. 


POEMA  MORALE.  1 55 

He  next  portrays  the  bliss  of  heaven,  which  does  not  con- 
sist in  earthly  splendour  and  in  sensual  pleasure,  but  in 
the  sight  of  God,  who  is  the  true  sun,  full  of  brightness, 
the  day  without  night.     "  To  this  bliss  may  God  bring  us  !  " 

Depth  of  thought,  warmth  of  sentiment,  nobility  of  feel- 
ing, and  a  spiritual  conception  of  spiritual  things, — such 
qualities  show  the  author  of  the  Poema  morale  to  be  of  the 
same  family  with  the  homilists  of  the  Old  English  church ; 
but  while  he  moves  within  their  range  of  ideas,  he  clothes 
his  thought  in  a  new  form. 

We  easily  discern  in  his  verse  the  iambic  septeiiarius,  or 
more  exactly,  the  catalectic  tetrameter,  well  known  to  an- 
tique poetry.  The  poet  sometimes  takes  the  liberty  of  omit- 
ting the  up-beat  {^^  Auftakt,''  avajcpovais)  in  the  first  as 
well  as  in  the  second  section  of  the  line ;  but  otherwise  he 
observes  a  very  regular  alternation  of  arsis  and  tJiesis.  Such 
a  rhythm  necessarily  involves  a  treatment  of  accent  at  vari- 
ance with  the  ancient  usage ;  hence  we  here  for  the  first 
time  encounter  a  principle  of  accentuation  which  was  to 
leave  its  impress  upon  the  entire  future  development  of 
English  metre,  and  v/as  of  moment  to  the  language  itself, 
especially  as  regards  unaccented  syllables  and  secondary  ac- 
cents. But  the  old  principle  was  not  put  aside  suddenly  and 
without  a  struggle.  It  lived  on  for  centuries  in  the  native 
verse.  It  is,  however,  very  doubtful  if,  near  the  close  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  men  were  able  to  read  the  aUiterative  verse  as 
correctly  as  they  constructed  it,  in  accordance  with  tradi- 
tion. 

Another  innovation,  of  which  the  Middle  Latin  and  the 
French  poesy  could  both  furnish  models,  was  the  regular 
employment  of  an  end-rhyme,  joining,  not  the  cassura  and 
close  of  the  same  line,  but  different  lines.  With  our  poet 
two  long  lines  form  a  strophe,  at  whose  close  the  sentence 
usually  ends;  a  minor  pause  parts  the  two  halves  of  the 
strophe. 

Not  less  than  rhythm  and  metre,  the  poetical  language  of 
the  Poema  morale  diverges  from  the  ancient  manner.  How 
much  less  does  it  seem  to  flow  from  the  fulness  of  imagina- 
tion, how  abstract  and  meagre  it  seems  beside  the  diction 
of  a  Cynewulf !  But  to  compensate  for  this,  it  is  clearer, 
simpler,  and  easier;  and  if  the  regularly  recurring  pauses, 


156  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

made  prominent  by  the  rhyme,  are  somewhat  monotonous, 
especially  in  connection  with  the  brevity  of  the  strophes  and 
the  length  of  the  poem,  yet  they  lend  a  pleasing  finish  and 
increased  emphasis  to  the  expression.  The  plan  of  the 
Poema  ffiorale,  regarded  either  as  a  homily  or  as  a  poem,  is 
not  faultless.  Hence  it  is  not  easy  for  us  to  reahse  the  full 
impression  which  the  poem  must  have  made  upon  con- 
temporaries, upon  devout-minded  auditors.  That  this  was 
considerable  is  shown  as  well  by  the  numerous  copies  ex- 
tant, as  by  the  influence  that  it  unmistakably  exercised  upon 
later  poets. 

Another  writer,  the  author  of  a  poetical  exposition  of  the 
Pafernoste?',  proved  much  poorer  in  ideas,  in  poetic  talent, 
and  metrical  skill ;  he  Ukewise  belonged  to  the  south  of 
England,  and  lived  in  the  second  half  of  the  twelfth  century. 
His  work  is  especially  notew^orthy  because  it  is  the  oldest 
known  poem  in  which  a  short  rhyming  couplet  is  consistent- 
ly and  regularly  employed.  But  this  is  not  an  early  devel- 
opment of  the  national  form  occurring  in  Aelfred's  Proverbs. 
The  short  line,  it  is  true,  has  in  both  cases  four  accents  and 
the  couplet  eight;  but  while  the  sonorous  close ^  of  the  na- 
tive verse  has  two  accents,  or  at  least  is  reckoned  equivalent 
to  two  accents,  it  numbers,  as  a  rule,  but  one  in  the  Pate)-- 
noster.  Accordingly  Vv'e  find  the  endings  in  this  poem  to  be 
masculine  and  feminine  rhymes  in  the  Romanic  sense,  and 
we  are  reminded  of  the  French  short  couplet  of  eight-syl- 
labled lines,  which,  it  may  be  taken  for  granted,  is,  in  its 
turn,  based  upon  a  long  line  of  eight  accents,  the  iambic  töt- 
rameter. 

VII. 

While  the  English  poesy  was  attempting  new  forms,  and 
did  not  in  spirit  and  subject-matter  yet  betray  the  influence 
of  foreign  art,  the  Romanic  poetry  was  in  the  midst  of  a 
powerful  development.  But  by  this  time  England  was 
united  by  new  bonds  with  the  Romanic  world.  Indeed  such 
parts  of  this  world  as  had  formerly  been  remote  now  became 
connected  with  her,  and  especially  those  territories  in  which 
poetry  had  taken  a  new  and  peculiar  impulse. 

■  /.  ^.,  a  double  ending  In  which  the  first  or  accented  syllable  is  long. 


RISE  OF  THE  TROUBADOURS.  1 57 

Henry,  Count  of  Anjou  and  Maine,  Duke  of  Normandy 
and  lord  of  Britanny,  had,  by  his  marriage  with  Eleanor  of 
Poitou  (1152),  become  Count  of  Poitou  and  Duke  of  Aqui 
taine.  After  11 54  he  also  wore  the  English  crown.  The 
king  of  England  thus  had  sway  over  the  entire  western  part 
of  France,  a  dominion  twice  as  large  as  that  ruled  by 
his  liege-lord,  the  king  of  France.  In  the  vast  empire  of 
the  Plantagenets,  races  speaking  French  and  Provengal,  Teu- 
tonic and  Celtic  idioms  came  into  closer  contact,  and  this  in 
an  epoch  of  rapidly  advancing  culture  and  general  intellect- 
ual activity,  when  the  crusades  brought  European  nations 
into  intercourse  with  each  other  and  with  the  oriental  peo- 
ples. The  court  gathered  about  Henry  H.  formed  the  cen- 
tre where  the  various  currents  of  culture  that  traversed  this 
wide  territory  met  and  formed  new  combinations. 

It  was  between  11 52  and  1156,  in  Normandy,  that  the 
seductive  Eleanor  of  Poitou  received  the  enthusiastic  homage 
of  a  young  poet  of  southern  France,  without  rank  and  with- 
out name,  save  that  which  he  had  made  himself  by  his  songs ; 
this  poet  followed  her  to  England.  It  was  the  famous  trou- 
badour Bernart  de  Ventadorn,  with  whom  the  South  French, 
or  as  it  is  usually  called,  the  Provengal,  art-poesy  entered 
upon  the  period  of  its  florescence.  The  beginnings  of  this 
new  class  of  poetry  date  from  the  eleventh  century.  At  the 
head  of  the  series  of  troubadours  known  to  us  stands  an  an- 
cestor of  Eleanor,  beautiful,  spiritual,  captivating,  and  frivo- 
lous like  his  granddaughter,  a  brilliant,  chivalric  personage, 
William  of  Poitiers,  Count  of  Poitou  and  Duke  of  Aquitaine 
(1071-1127). 

Southern  France  was  a  land  marvellously  favoured  by  nat- 
ure, pervaded  by  ancient  culture,  and  opened  by  the  Medi- 
terranean to  intercourse  with  Italy,  Greece,  and  the  Orient;  a 
more  refined  enjoyment  of  life  had  earlier  than  elsewhere 
sprung  up  as  a  consequence  of  increased  prosperity  and  pro- 
duced, in  its  turn,  finer  manners  and  culture.  The  nobility 
was  early  distinct  from  the  people,  not  alone  because  of 
greater  power,  wealth,  and  splendid  Hving,  but  also  through 
a  certain  elegance  of  forms,  through  an  intellectual  culture 
not  entirely  lacking  scholarship,  but  essentially  that  of  the  man 
of  the  world.  If  the  masculine  side  of  chivalry,  \}i^Q  prouesse^ 
appeared  in  full  vigour  for  the  first  time  among  the  Normans, 


158  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

we  first  find  its  feminine  side,  the  courtoisie^  among  the  Pro- 
ven9als.  Reverence  for  woman  formed  the  centre  of  the 
courtly  chivalr}'  unfolding  in  the  south  of  France,  which,  as 
ever  is  the  case  in  privileged,  exclusive  classes,  especially  in 
epochs  of  growing  culture,  soon  received  an  extremely  con- 
ventional tone.  Love  was,  therefore,  the  key-note  to  the 
poesy  which  developed  in  the  circles  of  the  South-French 
nobility,  and  which,  destined  to  express  individual  feelings 
and  to  serve  personal  ends,  from  the  first  was  extremely  sub- 
jective, but  at  the  same  time  was  strongly  influenced  by 
prevailing  customs. 

So  for  the  first  time  in  the  occidental  literature  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages  sprang  up  a  poetry  truly  erotic  and  lyrical  in  spirit 
and  conception,  and  eminently  artistic  in  its  form. 

That  love  which,  from  the  first,  was  the  topic  of  the  trou- 
badour, and  continued  to  be  the  soul  of  his  song,  even  after 
quite  different  themes  had  been  introduced,  was  of  a  very 
mixed  character.  It  was  oftentimes  broadly  sensual,  some- 
times fiivolous.  Its  object  was  usually  a  married  woman, 
as  the  young  maidens  were  wont  to  be  held  in  monastic  se- 
clusion. Thus  arose  for  the  lover  the  difliculty  in  approach- 
ing his  beloved ;  or,  in  case  she  was  the  spouse  of  the  lord, 
there  was  also  the  danger  connected  with  his  wooing,  the 
deeper  reverence  with  which  he  looked  up  to  the  mistress  of 
his  heart.  Hence  the  custom  of  giving  the  lady-love  an  as- 
sumed name,  and  the  obscure  allusions  of  which  these  poems 
are  full ;  hence  the  enhanced  duty  of  silence  when  a  suitor 
won  the  favour  of  his  love.  Hence,  too,  the  soft,  ardent, 
gushing  sentiment  which  found  early  and  ever  stronger  ex- 
pression in  this  poesy,  the  sentiment  to  which  the  sHghtest 
token  of  favour  from  the  mistress  was  paramount  to  every 
thing,  to  which  her  aspect  itself  yielded  high  delight,  nay, 
which  was  happy  in  mere  pensive  musing.  This  love  was 
therefore  not  entirely  without  ideality,  which  did  not,  indeed, 
with  many  poets,  rise  above  conventionality,  but  with  others 
came  from  the  deepest  feeling.  And  does  not  the  custom  it- 
self which  makes  the  gentle  sex  the  object  of  respectful  devo- 
tion, and  grants  to  it  sovereignty  and  precedence,  rest  upon  an 
ideal  basis  ? — since  it  cannot  adequately  be  accounted  for 
v^•ithout  the  influence  of  Christianity  (and  we  may  add.  of  the 
Teutonic  spirit) ;  the  cult  of  the  Virgin  Mary  forms  the  begin- 


POETRY  OF  THE  TROUBADOURS.  1 59 

niiig  of  the  extravagant  devotion  to  woman.  And  if  a  gallant 
troubadour,  reversing  the  ancient  relation,  calls  the  love  of  a 
married  man  for  other  women  a  "  false,  bad  love,"  but  finds 
nothing  to  say  against  the  love  of  wedded  women  when  di- 
rected to  a  worthy  object,  this  may,  in  one  respect,  seem 
rather  questionable,  it  may  even  be  deemed  "  morbid  " ;  yet 
it  betokens  the  spirit  of  an  age  in  which  there  had  been  a 
great  refining  of  the  feelings  as  a  natural  reaction  against  the 
rude  arrogance  of  force. 

Technically,  the  poesy  of  the  troubadours  was,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  constructed  upon  the  basis  of  popular  poetry ; 
but  it  strove,  from  the  first,  in  accordance  with  the  social 
atmosphere  in  which  it  flourished,  to  mould  itself  in  artistic 
and  individual  forms.  It  was  upon  the  invention  of  new 
strophic  forms  and  melodies — for  his  songs  were  sung — that 
the  poet  mainly  founded  his  claim  to  the  title  troubadour  (tro- 
baire,  irobador)  i.  <?.,  finder,  as  opposed  to  the  jojigleur  (jug- 
lar),  who  recited  the  songs  of  others  or  handed  down  the  tra- 
dition of  popular  poetry. 

Pv.hyme  took  the  place  of  assonance ;  it  no  longer  merely 
tied  successive  verses,  but  as  an  alternating  or  inserted  rhyme, 
glided  pleasingly  through  the  strophe,  or  even  the  entire 
poem,  often  falling  within  the  verse,  or  uniting  the  close  of  a 
line  with  the  beginning  of  the  next,  or  perhaps  in  each 
strophe  changing  its  position  in  artistic  order.  Various 
metres  were  gradually  employed  in  the  service  of  song ;  the 
strophe  was  oftentimes  constructed  out  of  different  rhythms, 
which  a  fine  ear  combined  into  a  musical  whole.  Moreover, 
there  was  gradually  formed  a  technical  classification  of  the 
lyrical  divisions,  which  received  special  names,  determined 
partly  by  the  subject-matter  and  partly  by  the  form.  Thus  we 
have  the  vers  to  designate  the  simpler  song-form  of  the  older 
troubadours ;  the  chanso,  for  the  artistically  developed  love- 
song;  the  sirventes  (service-poem),  for  the  political  or  moral 
song,  composed  in  the  service  of  a  lord,  which  also  included 
as  subdivisions  the  crusader's  song  and  the  elegy  (plaiih); 
the  tenso^  or  joe  partit  (dispute,  divided  play),  in  which  two 
poets,  alternating  by  strophes,  defend  and  oppose  some  prop- 
osition. Other  classes  followed  these  in  order,  containing 
epic  and  in  part  dramatic  matter,  and,  in  spite  of  the  artistic 
cultivation  they  received,  concealing  their  popular  origin  less 


l6o  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

than  the  vers,  viz :  the  romance,  in  which  the  poet  relate^* 
an  experience  or  an  adventure  of  his  own  ;  the  pastoral  (pcu- 
torelaj,  which  presents  him  in  gallant  discourse  with  a  shep- 
herdess ;  the  morning-song  (alba),  which  depicts  the  parting 
of  two  lovers  at  dawn ;  the  dancing-song,  in  various  forms, 
and  others.  In  the  course  of  time  arose  a  tendency  to 
classify  still  more  minutely,  as  regards  form  and  matter.  Of 
these  subdivisions  the  descort  deserves  mention,  since,  con- 
trary to  the  usual  manner  of  art-poesy,  it  was  constructed 
of  unequal  strophes,  like  the  church  sequences  with  which 
it  was  connected,  and  like  the  North-French  lai. 

In  such  forms  and  classes  was  cast  this  lyrical  poesy  of 
Provence.  It  generally  lacked  plastic  individualisation,  and 
often  directness ;  it  was  fond  of  a  scholastic  analysis  of  the 
feelings,  of  abstractions,  and  generalisations,  and  it  was  apt, 
especially  in  the  love-song,  to  fall  into  conventional  monot- 
ony ;  but,  nevertheless,  it  often  rouses  our  admiration  by  its 
technical  finish  and  euphonious  language,  by  the  ingenious 
manner  in  which  the  same  theme  is  presented  with  ever  new 
variation,  by  its  refinement  and  delicacy,  and  often  by  its 
boldness  of  thought;  and  it  not  rarely  receives  from  the 
power  of  its  passion  or  the  depth  of  its  feeling  a  warmly 
pulsing  life,  which  irresistibly  bears  us  with  it.  The  con- 
struction is  with  most  poets  simple  and  lucid.  But  the  sense 
is  oftentimes  obscured  when  the  writer,  either  from  caution 
or  to  gain  artistic  distinction,  purposely  clothes  his  thoughts 
in  vague,  peculiar  phrase,  and  seeks  rare  words  and  difiicult 
rhymes  to  which  the  language,  with  its  mass  of  ambiguous 
vocables,  lent  itself  only  too  readily.  Detailed  similes  are 
not  rare  with  the  troubadours,  though  they  are  at  times  far- 
fetched. Besides  what  life  and  nature  afford  to  experience, 
reminiscences  from  classical  mythology,  mediaeval  heroes 
of  romance,  and  personages  from  the  Fhysiologus  serve  for 
comparison. 

As  has  already  been  remarked,  princes  and  nobles  first 
cultivated  the  new  art,  and  so  long  as  it  flourished,  there 
was  no  lack  of  poets  from  the  nobility.  But  ver)^  soon  the 
lowly  born  worked  their  way  into  courtly  customs,  and  a 
courtly  manner  of  writing;  and  it  was  precisely  this  class 
that  contained  troubadours  able  to  strike  the  fullest  note  of 
genuine   feeling.     In  the  course  of  time  ecclesiastics  and 


GUILHEM  DE  POITIERS.  l6l 

monks  also  appeared  in  the  ranks  of  the  art-  and  love-poets, 
at  which  we  can  hardly  wonder  as  occurring  in  the  Middle 
Ages. 

The  most  ancient  troubadour  of  whom  we  know,  Guil- 
hem  de  Poitiers,  employs  comparatively  simple  forms.  Be- 
sides the  canzone  (chanso),  he  is  also  partial  to  more  popu- 
lar kinds  of  verse,  as  the  "  z/(?rj,"  and  the  "romance,"  the 
latter  having  a  frivolous  and  even  lascivious  tone.  His 
songs  are,  for  the  most  part,  fresh,  audacious,  and  self-con- 
scious; he  does  not  conceal  his  pride  in  his  own  personal 
qualities,  or  in  his  art.  Even  when  he  appears  as  a  languish- 
ing lover,  he  cannot  always  suppress  a  humorous  feeling 
arising  from  his  sense  of  superiority.  One  of  his  songs  is 
especially  tender;  that  in  which,  in  the  phrase  of  a  great 
connoisseur  in  this  branch  of  literature,  "  the  chief  traits  of 
the  minne-poesy,  which  later  unfolded  completely,  lie  to- 
gether as  in  the  bud." 

We  give  a  (qw  strophes  from  it  that  we  may  hear  the  ne\? 
chord  then  sounding  in  the  poetry  of  the  West : 

Each  joy  must  bow  before  her  throne, 
'  All  might  obey,  in  every  place, 
For  my  sweet  lady's  kindly  grace 
And  lovesome  glance.     He  that  would  OAvn 
Her  love's  deep  bliss,  would  taste  alone, 
Must  live  a  hundred  years'  full  space.  .  .  . 


Since  none  more  gentle  can  be  found, 
Nor,  named  with  mouth,  nor  with  eye  seen, 
I'll  keep  her  for  myself,  my  queen. 
My  heart  within,  refreshed,  shall  bound, 
With  youth  my  body  be  recrowned, 
An^  I  shall  ne'er  grow  old,  I  ween. 


If  but  my  lady  will  give  her  love 
To  me,  with  thankful  heart  I  will 
It  take,  and  keep  her  secret  still ; 
Enhance  her  praise;  her  worth  above 
All  others  set ;  both  speak  and  move 
As  doth  her  pleasure  best  fulfil. 


No  word  I  risk  to  send  her,  lest 
She  angry  be.     Myself,  I  dare 
Not  speak, — Alas,  to  fail !     I  fear 
My  love  too  strongly  be  expressed  ! 
Yet  she  should  choose  all  for  my  best, 
Knowing  my  cure  lies  in  her  care. 
L 


102  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

Guilhem  was  followed  by  a  non-noble  bard,  Cercalmon, 
in  whose  songs  there  is  the  ring  of  a  softer  note.  Soon  after 
him  came  Marcabru,  a  foundhng  who  worked  his  way  up 
to  the  rank  of  a  troubadour  by  sheer  strength  of  mind.  He 
was  a  man  of  peculiar,  though  completely  rounded  views  of 
life,  and  of  great  parts ;  he  had  a  strong  bent  toward  the  di- 
dactic, and  he  sharply  scourged  the  moral  defects  of  his  time. 
He  exhorted  men  to  the  crusades  with  burning  words ;  but 
at  another  time,  with  deepest  feeHng  he  portrayed  in  a 
"  romance  "  a  forsaken  maiden  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  crusades. 
All  his  art  is  full  of  popular  notes,  notwithstanding  his 
partiality  for  rare  and  obscure  words.  Jaufre  Rudel,  the 
Prince  of  Blaya,  wrote  at  about  the  same  time,  perhaps 
somewhat  earHer.  His  romantic  history,  known  from 
Uhlan d's  ballad,  accords  well  with  the  deep  yearning  ex- 
pressed in  his  songs. 

The  canzone  reached  its  full  artistic  perfection  in  Bernart 
de  Ventadorn,  our  point  of  departure.  In  tecJuiiqiie  it  prob- 
ably owed  to  him  the  gain  of  the  epic  ten-syllabled  line, 
whose  caesura  Bernart  modified  for  lyrical  purposes, — and 
hence  it  received  a  broader  flow  and  more  majestic  strain. 
As  to  matter,  it  owes  still  more  to  him.  Beyond  all  other 
troubadours,  Bernart  can  move  us  by  the  deep  feeling  which 
speaks  to  the  heart.  This  he  clothes  in  artistic,  sometimes 
rich,  but  never  overcharged,  metrical  forms,  in  chastely  noble 
language,  and  often  with  childlike  jiaivete. 

We  find,  after  Bernart's  time,  frequent  allusions  in  the  lyr- 
ical poetry  of  Provence  to  the  Plantagenets  and  to  affairs  of 
their  realm.  Many  troubadours  had  close  relations  with  the 
English  court ;  some  even  took  active  part  in  politics.  In 
this  connection  we  are  at  once  reminded  of  Bertran  de 
Born,  that  restless,  combative  lord  of  Autafort,  who  gave 
Henry  II.  so  much  trouble,  who  incited  now  the  barons  of 
Aquitaine  against  their  liege-lord,  now  the  sons  against  their 
father.  Bertran  brought  the  political  sirve7ites  to  its  highest 
perfection.  His  songs  give  utterance  to  passion,  life,  energy, 
which,  joined  to  finished  mastery  of  form,  move  us  with 
kindling,  startling  power. 

One  of  the  Plantagenets,  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion,  himself 
appeared  in  the  ranks  of  the  troubadours  with  the  title  "  the 
Count  of  Poitiers,"  though  one  of  the  two  songs  that  we 


THE  FRENCH  LYRIC.  163 

possess  from  him  has  come  to  us  also  in  French,  and  though 
perhaps  both  were  written  by  him  in  this  language. 

At  about  the  time  when  Bernart  de  Ventadorn  came  to 
Eleanors  court,  the  Provencal  poetry  began  powerfully  to 
tell  upon  that  of  northern  France.  Proximity  and  the  simi- 
larity of  languages  made  unavoidable  what  was  notably  pro- 
moted by  complicated  dynastic  and  territorial  relations,  and 
the  roving  impulse  of  many  poets  and  singers. 

A  lyrical  poetry  had  already  begun  in  northern  France  to 
form  upon  a  popular  basis  and  in  a  more  popular  spirit,  and  it 
was  now  quickly  brought  by  its  advanced  Proven9al  sister  to  a 
higher  finish  of  form  and  a  tone  of  courtly  refinement.  The 
French  poetry  acquired  a  love-song  and  jeii  parti,  which,  in 
form  and  matter,  are  repetitions — generally  weak  ones — of 
the  Provencal  models.  But  the  sii'ventes  did  not  grow  to 
an  independent  class  in  the  North ;  what  was  understood  by 
the  sirveiitois  rather  corresponds  to  the  religious  song.  Of 
the  sub-classes  of  the  Proven9al  sirventes,  only  the  crusader's 
song  is  more  fully  represented  in  French  territory ;  as  in- 
deed the  religious  song  in  general,  which  sings  the  love  of 
God  with  the  fervour  and  tenderness  of  earthly  love,  was 
there  more  developed. 

The  French  lyric  was  original  and  significant  chiefly  when 
it  rested  upon  its  own  folk-poesy,  in  the  lai,  the  romance,  the 
pastoral.  There  it  far  surpassed  the  Provengal  poetry  in 
freshness  of  execution,  in  depth  of  feeling,  or  in  naive  arch- 
ness and  wit.  The  Provengals  had  nothing  to  compare  with 
the  chanson  d'histoire,  which  nearly  corresponds  to  the  bal- 
lad ;  and  in  this  the  song- form  that  preceded  the  origin  of  the 
epos  is  applied  to  romantic,  instead  of  national  subjects; 
the  structure  of  its  strophe  is  limited  by  art,  and,  soon 
adorned  with  pure  rhymes,  it  for  a  time  accompanies  the 
epos  in  its  growth. 

As  among  the  troubadours,  we  also  meet  with  noble  poets 
among  the  lyrical  tronveres,  Hke  the  chatelain  of  Coucy, 
like  Quesnes  of  Bethune  and  even  princes,  like  the  Duke  of 
Brabant,  and  the  famous  Thibaut  of  Champagne,  king  of 
Navarre.  But,  from  the  first,  men  of  meaner  descent  took 
part  in  the  new  art,  as  did  Crestien  de  Troyes  in  Champagne. 
Especially  in  Flanders,  in  Artois,  in  Picardy,  did  the  com- 
mons take  strong  hold  upon  the  development  of  the  art- 
lyric. 


164  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

The  court-lyric  seems  to  have  been  mainly  cultivated  in 
the  north  and  east  of  the  French-speaking  territory,  and 
much  less  so  in  the  west,  in  Normandy. 

In  Anglo-Norman  England,  the  nobility  became  ac- 
quainted with  the  Provencal,  as  well  as  the  North-French 
love-poetry,  but  the  English  soil  was  little  adapted  to  an  in- 
dependent production  of  this  kind.  An  art  which,  using 
the  materials  of  the  French  language,  sought  above  all  a 
courtly  tone  and  a  courtly  form  could  even  then  freely  flour- 
ish only  where  Paris  was  regarded  as  the  real  centre.  As 
early  as  the  second  half  of  the  twelfth  century,  French  art- 
poets  begin  to  show  a  consciousness  that  the  idiom  of  the 
Isle  de  France  was  the  only  proper  court-language.  At  the 
same  time  the  Norman  dialect  in  England,  which,  like  the 
Norman  dialect  of  the  Continent,  was  more  than  half  a  cent- 
ury behind  the  French  in  development,  began  to  degenerate 
in  consequence  of  the  confusion  of  original  vowel  shadings. 
Anglo-Norman  versification  also  was  losing  its  Romanic 
purity  and  smoothness  under  the  influence  of  the  English. 

No  school  of  lyrical  art  arose  in  England.  Compositions 
there  in  the  lyric  strain  probably  seldom  attained  the  courtly 
finish.  The  chief  production  apparently  lay  in  religious  lyr- 
ical verse.  We  also  find  in  the  thirteenth  century  political 
songs  in  the  Anglo-Norman  tongue,  which,  however,  are 
anything  but  courtly. 

Notwithstanding  the  meagre  participation  of  England  in 
the  French  love-poetry,  the  latter  scattered  many  germs 
there  that  were  of  moment  in  the  later  development  of  the 
national  lyrical  poetry.  Working  through  the  most  various 
channels,  it  affected  the  manners  and  ideas  of  society,  and  thus 
indirectly  the  literature  of  the  country.  Hence  it  has  been 
requisite  to  consider  it  at  length  and  in  its  origin.  The  court - 
epic  of  the  French  had  indeed  a  stronger  and  more  direct 
bearing  upon  EngHsh  poetry,  and,  in  its  turn,  it  owed  much 
to  Anglo-Norman  England. 

VIII. 

The  court-epos,  or  more  appropriately  the  court-romance, 
grew  up  under  the  influence  of  the  lyrical  art-poetry,  partly 
from  scholarly  and  partly  from  more  popular  elements. 


SAGA  OF  ALEXANDER.  1 65 

Especially  characteristic  of  this  class,  as  distinguished  from 
the  national  epos,  is,  first,  the  subject-matter  derived  from 
foreign  countries.  It  was  drawn  from  Alexandria,  from  By- 
zantium, from  Italy,  in  all  these  cases  through  the  Latin ; 
or  from  Wales,  Cornwall,  Britanny,  either  through  Breton 
songs*  and  French  imitations  of  them,  or  through  the  medium 
of  Latin  and  French  prose  versions,  full  of  arbitrary  and  de- 
liberate invention.  It  is  easy  to  understand  that  an  epic 
which  aimed  to  amuse  a  select  class  should  be  at  pains  to 
secure  new  and  far-fetched  subject-matter,  that  was  mainly 
crowded  with  remarkable  adventures  and  marvels,  and  pre- 
sented manners  and  ideas  responding  to  the  taste  of  a  more 
refined  age. 

The  saga  of  Alexander  first  found  access  to  western  lit- 
erature. It  belongs  essentially  to  antiquity.  Alexandria,  in 
its  cosmopolitan  life,  did  not  ill  express  the  world-embracing 
ideas  of  its  great  founder,  and  there  the  saga  seems  chiefly 
to  have  been  formed,  and  there,  about  the  beginning  of  the 
third  century,^  it  seems  to  have  crystallised  in  the  Greek 
narrative  known  by  the  name  Callisthe?ies.  The  work  of  the 
pseudo-Callisthenes  was  in  time  circulated  in  the  West  in  sev- 
eral Latin  versions,  which  were  generally  based  upon  vari- 
ous recensions  of  the  original  text.  Among  these,  two  are 
conspicuous  :  that  of  Julius  Valerius  for  its  age;  that  of  the 
Neapolitan  arch-presbyter,  Leo,  who  wrote  in  the  tenth 
century,  for  its  intrinsic  importance. 

Before  the  Norman  Conquest  we  saw  a  letter  translated 
into  English,  in  which  Alexander  sent  home  an  account  of 
the  marvels  he  had  seen  and  experienced  in  India.  Several 
such  letters  are  inserted  in  the  ^'s>^\!i^Q-Callisthenes,  the  epis- 
tolary form  being  perhaps  the  most  ancient  embodiment  of 
the  saga.  The  entire  work  of  the  arch-presbyter  Leo  was 
poetically  rendered  by  Alberic  of  BesanQon,  in  the  second 
half  of  the  eleventh  century.  We  possess  in  the  original 
only  the  opening  of  his  simple,  noble,  life-like  narrative; 
while  the  whole  has  come  to  us  in  the  German  imitation  by 
the  priest  Lamprecht  (about  1125).  Other  French  Alexan- 
der-poems followed.  The  most  famous  came  in  the  second 
half  of  the  twelfth  century  from  the  pen  of  a  monk  of  Cha- 

1  As  will  be  readily  understood,  my  estimate  as  to  the  time  when  the  pseudo-Ca//?!?- 
thenes  originated  refers  only  to  its  most  ancient  cast  as  a  whole,  and  not  to  the  single 
parts.     Some  of  these  date  from  a  considerably  earlier  period. 


l66  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

teaudun,  Lambert  the  Crooked;  to  this  poem  the  twelve- 
syllabled  line  seems  to  owe  the  name  of  Alexandrine.  It 
found  a  translator  and  reviser  in  Alexander  de  Paris  of  Ber- 
nay,  whose  work  can  now  scarcely  be  distinguished  from 
that  of  Lambert.  Drawn  from  a  less  pure  source,  written 
with  less  simple  grandeur  than  Alberic's  poem,  this  Alexan- 
der-romance presents  nevertheless  the  exalted  image  of  the 
great  man — in  whom  the  Middle  Ages  found  nothing  to 
censure  save  that  he  was  not  a  Christian — in  a  light  clear 
enough  to  justify  the  poet  who  holds  up  this  image  as  a 
standard,  not  only  for  kings,  but  also  for  knights,  ecclesias- 
tics, matrons,  and  maidens.  The  rendering  is  rich  in  fine 
details  and  descriptions,  and  aphorisms  are  not  wanting, 
which  leave  a  lasting  impression  upon  the  memory,  com- 
prised as  they  are,  in  the  true  French  manner,  within  the 
compass  of  a  Hne,  and  often  pointed  with  antithesis.  Lam- 
bert rightly  chose  the  epic  strain  for  his  poetry,  although  it 
never  occurred  to  him,  as  to  more  modern  scholars,  to  name 
his  romance  a  song.  The  figure  of  the  hero,  the  saga  itself, 
are  too  grand  for  the  form  of  the  courdy  narrative.  In  the 
former,  the  Middle  Ages  could  see  the  model  of  a  king,  of  a 
man,  of  a  knight;  in  the  latter,  the  outlines  at  least  of  the 
grand  reality  are  yet  to  be  discerned.  This  is  especially 
true  of  the  heroics  of  the  first  part,  and  also,  in  some  degree, 
of  the  fabulous  second  part,  although  it  was  here,  in  the 
description  of  Alexander's  expeditions  in  the  far  East,  that 
an  exuberant  oriental  imagination  came  into  play,  and  fell 
into  extravagant  vagaries. 

Among  the  sagas  of  classical  antiquity  belonging  essen- 
tially to  poetry,  the  story  of  ^•^neas  was  accessible  in  Virgil, 
that  of  Thebes  in  Statins,  both  familiar  and  favourite  poets 
in  the  Middle  Ages.  Virgil's  yEncid  had  an  imitator  com- 
paratively early,  I  conjecture,  in  the  sixties  of  the  twelfth 
centur)^  He  was  gifted  with  gi-eat  talent,  but  he  took  a  too 
independent  attitude  toward  his  classical  author,  and  turned 
his  finely  proportioned  epos  into  a  prolix  romance  of  chiv- 
alry, tricked  out  with  all  sorts  of  mediaeval  courtly  detail, 
but  otherwise  vividly  written.^ 

>  We  are  acquainted  as  yet  only  with  fragments  of  this  French  ^neas-romance — 
this  time  not  by  an  unlucky  chance,  but  through  the  fault  of  scholars.  This  is  so 
much  the  more  to  be  regretted,  because  the  poem  may  have  had  a  similar,  if  not  an 
equally   great  influence   in   the  perfecting  of  the  court-epic  in  France,  as  did  the 


SAGA  OF  TROY.  1 67 

On  the  contrary,  the  story  of  Troy,  with  which  that  of 
^neas  is  connected,  flowed  down  to  that  age  only  from 
very  turbid  sources.  If  Homer  was  then  not  absolutely  in- 
accessible to  the  West,  so  much  is  certain :  that  among  the 
thousands  who  named  his  name,  there  was  scarcely  one  who 
had  a  suspicion  of  his  place  in  literature,  and  that  the  most 
classically  educated  poets  of  the  twelfth  century,  as  Joseph 
of  Exeter,  drew  their  material,  not  from  him,  but  from  those 
turbid  sources. 

Two  Latin  prose  versions  of  the  Troy-saga  were  then 
most  conspicuous :  one  with  full  details,  the  other  brief. 
Both  were  professedly  translated  from  the  Greek,  and  the 
name  of  an  author  so  well  known  as  Cornelius  Nepos  is  at- 
tached to  the  shorter.  Each  claims  to  have  been  origi- 
nally composed  by  one  contemporary  with  the  Trojan  war, 
and  who  took  part  in  it ;  the  longer  work,  by  the  Cretan 
Dictys,  who  fought  upon  the  Greek  side ;  the  shorter  by  the 
Phrygian  Dares,  who  fought  upon  the  side  of  the  Trojans. 

It  is  not  impossible  ^  that  the  Ephemeris  belli  Troiani  of 
the  pseudo-Dictys,  which,  in  its  present  form,  may  be  placed 
near  the  beginning  of  the  fifth  century,  was  really  founded 
upon  a  Greek  original.  However  distorted,  the  saga,  as 
here  given,  much  more  resembles  the  ancient  tradition  than 
does  the  narrative  of  Dares.  The  author  drew  from  good 
sources,  from  Homer,  from  the  cyclic  poets,  and  especially 
from  the  tragic  writers  of  Greek  antiquity.  But  the  real 
poetry  of  the  subject  vanished  in  his  hands,  the  saga  was 
robbed  of  its  mythical  value,  and  the  epic  machinery  was 
discarded. 

Bad  as  he  was,  Dictys  was  too  good  for  the  Middle  Ages, 
and  I  do  not  speak  as  an  enemy  of  the  "  Dark  Ages."  At 
least  his  rival  Dares  was  preferred  to  him,  though  he  was 
well  known  and  occasionally  utilised. 

Two  circumstances  seem  to  have  made  Dares  attractive 
to  that  age :  his  epitomising,  by  which  his  matter  could 
readily  be  adapted,  and  then  adorned  and  expanded  at  will ; 
further,  his  identification  with  that  people  to  which  medi- 

romance  of  Heinrich  of  Veldeke,  patterned  after  it,  upon  the  same  art-class  in  Germany 
(in  and  after  1175).  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  we  will  soon  have  a  complete  publication  of 
the  original. 

•  Although,  it  must  be  added,  in  the  light  of  recent  Investigations  of  the  subject, 
nighly  improbable. 


1 68  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

seval  nations  were  fond  of  ascribing  their  origin,  as  proud 
Roma  had  done  before  them. 

Dares's  writing,  De  excidio  Troiae  historia,  is  a  wretched, 
barren,  often  self-contradictory  piece  of  work,  written  in  the 
worst  of  Latin;  it  dates  from  about  the  sixth  century  of 
our  era.  But  with  interest  we  discern  in  it  the  first  outHnes 
of  personages  who  were  richly  developed  in  mediaeval  poesy, 
and  were  to  be  moulded  still  further  by  Shakspere  himself. 
Troilus  is  hardly  mentioned  in  older  traditions,  and  in  Dictys 
he  merely  enters  the  scene  to  be  killed  by  Achilles  and 
mourned  by  the  Trojans;  but  with  Dares  he  plays  an  im- 
portant role  among  the  sons  of  Priam.  After  Hector's  death 
he  comes  decidedly  into  the  foreground.  Calchas,  by  birth, 
belongs  to  the  Trojan  side,  and  goes  over  to  the  Greek  camp 
only  at  the  direction  of  the  Delphic  oracle. 

This  story  of  Dares  was  the  source  of  two  poetical  Troy- 
books,  composed  during  the  second  half  of  the  twelfth  cent- 
ury. One  of  them  was  written  in  Latin  verses  in  1188,  by 
the  Englishman  Joseph  of  Exeter;  it  is  particularly  inter- 
esting as  regards  form,  since  its  diction  for  that  age  was 
highly  cultivated  and  even  brilliant.  The  other,  of  some- 
what earlier  origin,  is  very  important  in  the  growth  of  the 
saga ;  it  is  the  French  Roman  de  Troie. 

The  poet  Benoit  de  Sainte  More  most  probably  belonged 
to  the  western  part  of  northern  France  under  the  Angevin 
sceptre.  Besides  Dares,  his  authorities  were  Dictys  and  other 
writers  in  part  unknown.  How  far  the  new  matter  presented 
by  him  came  from  his  own  invention  and  combination  can- 
not be  determined  with  certainty.  The  details,  the  exter- 
nals, the  mediaeval  courtly  colouring  of  the  whole,  are  with- 
out doubt  his  own ;  for  the  rest  we  are  confined  to  conject- 
ure. To  generalise,  Benoit  presents  not  only  the  elements, 
or  the  impulse,  of  the  mediaeval  tale  of  Troilus  as  we  find 
them  in  Dares,  but  its  essential  outlines  are  also  discernible. 
Briseida  (for  Briseis),  of  whom  Dares  ^  furnished  an  attractive 
portrait,  but  nothing  more,  with  him  becomes  the  heroine  of 
a  fine  and  carefully  executed  episode.  The  beloved  of  Troilus 
and  the  daughter  of  Calchas,  she  has  remained  in  Troy. 
After  the  capture  of  Antenor,  Calchas  proposes  to  the  Greeks 
to  exchange  the  latter  for  his  daughter.    The  proposition  is  ap- 

1  At  the  close  of  the  thirteenth  chapter,  which  Hkewise  contains  the  portraits  of  the 
Greek  princes ;  as  does  the  preceding  those  of  the  Trojans  and  the  Trojan  women. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  ADVENTURE.  1 69 

proved  and  is  ratified  in  Troy.  Briseida  is  to  be  given  back 
to  her  father.  The  great  pain  and  sad  parting  of  the  two  lov- 
ers, who  swear  eternal  fidelity  to  each  other,  is  then  described. 
But  Briseida  soon  forgets  her  pain  and  her  love  in  the  woo- 
ing of  a  new  lover,  Diomedes.^ 

Benoit's  poem  suffers  from  too  great  length  and  breadth. 
He  likes  to  begin  ab  ovo ;  to  add  learned  geographical, 
ethnographical,  mythological  digressions,  to  describe  at 
length,  and  to  make  as  many  words  as  possible.  Yet  we 
cannot  deny  a  certain  charm  to  his  style,  and  to  many  pas- 
sages, true  poetry.  Benoit  was  a  sensitive,  somewhat  finely 
organised  nature,  not  lacking  imagination,  and  w^th  either 
too  much  or  too  little  learning,  whence  comes  a  touch  of 
pedantry.  He  stood,  in  other  respects,  entirely  within  the 
influence  of  the  age  of  chivalric  courtliness  and  its  poetry, 
and  he  surpassed  most  of  his  fellow-writers,  both  in  their 
virtues  and  their  faults. 

We  are  wont  to  include  the  sagas  of  Alexander,  of  Troy, 
of  ^neas,  of  Thebes,  and  whatever  else  came  from  the 
ancient  history  or  epic,  in  the  comprehensive  phrase,  the 
antique  saga-cycle.  The  Middle  Ages  likewise  conceived  of 
them  as  homogeneous  and  connected,  and  contrasted  the 
romances  treating  them  with  the  contes  d'aveiitures. 

The  romance  of  adventure  was  the  true;  field  for  original 
invention,  that  is,  an  invention  producing  new  combinations 
out  of  well-known  elements,  and  often  making  free  with 
time,  place,  and  names  of  persons ;  and  this,  whether  the  in- 
vention belonged  mainly  to  one  person,  or  equally  to  many, 
whether  it  sprang  from  the  fancy  of  the  French  poets,  or 
was  transmitted  to  them,  whether,  finally,  the  elements  from 
which  it  created  new  combinations  flowed  to  it  from  art- 
poetry  or  the  folk-song. 

In  this  connection  the  elements  taken  from  Late-Greek 
and  Byzantine  romances,  hold  an  important  place. 

The  history  of  Apollonius  of  Tyre  very  early  became 
known  among  the  western  nations  through  a  Latin  transla- 
tion, which  must  also  for  us  replace  the  supposed  original. 
As  we  have  seen,  it  was  translated  into  English  before  the 

1  This  account  of  the  Troilus  episode  in  BcHoit  is  so  far  inaccurate  that,  in  the 
Roman  de  Troie,  Briseida  is  not  exchanged  for  Antenor.  She  is,  however,  demanded 
by  her  father  and  restored  to  him  in  connection  with  the  exchange  occasioned  by 
Anten  or' s  capture. 


1 70  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

Conquest.  In  France  the  story  was,  in  the  second  half  of 
the  twelfth  century,  connected  with  the  Charlemagne-saga, 
though  very  loosely,  and  with  change  of  names  and  places  ; 
and  it  was  treated  in  the  form  of  the  chansoji  de  geste  in 
Jourdain  de  Blaivies  at  about  the  same  time  that  Godfrey  of 
Viterbo,  in  Italy,  worked  over  the  story  in  Latin  verse  and 
embodied  it  in  his  Pantheon. 

The  crusades  brought  the  western  nations  into  frequent 
contact  with  Byzantium,  and  doubtless  procured  for  them  a 
certain  acquaintance  with  the  Late -Greek  and  Byzantine 
romance  literature.  Whether  entire  works,  which  would 
have  to  be  regarded  as  lost  in  the  original  tongue,  were 
translated  into  the  French,  traversing  perhaps  the  Latin, 
whether  complete  plots  were  carried  by  oral  tradition  into 
western  Europe,  or  single  themes  only  were  thus  trans- 
planted, so  much  is  certain,  that  a  not  inconsiderable  part 
of  the  French  tales  of  adventure  received  their  material,  or 
their  peculiar  colouring,  from  Byzantium. 

In  many  of  them  the  typical  character  of  their  models 
may  be  discerned.  As  to  subject-matter,  we  find  a  pair  of 
lovers  who  are  pursued  or  parted,  who  endure  all  sorts  of 
adventures,  and  are  happily  rescued  from  ever-recurring 
perils.  The  execution  shows  an  absence  of  all  analysis  of 
motives  and  of  all  portrayal  of  character.  There  is  a  pre- 
dominance of  chance,  an  effeminate  sentimentality  in  the 
treatment  of  the  erotic  element,  together  with  detailed  de- 
scriptions of  beautiful  gardens,  fountains,  etc.  The  favourite 
romantic  apparatus  consists  of  storms,  shipwreck,  land  or 
sea-robbers,  whose  place  may  be  taken  by  merchants  trad- 
ing in  human  beings,  caves  in  which  men  hide,  and  the  like. 

Late-Greek  and  oriental  elements  mingled  are  unmistaka- 
ble in  the  history  of  Floris  and  Blanc heflur  (Floire  et  Blajiche- 
flor).  Byzantine  originals  have  been  claimed  (whether  cor- 
rectly we  do  not  say)  for  other  romances,  as  that  of  Partono- 
peusof  Blois,  which  employs  the  beautiful  allegorical  myth  of 
Amor  and  Psyche,  and  that  of  Athis  and  Prophilias.  In 
Crestien  de  Troyes's  Cliget  we  are  led  now  to  the  court  at 
Constantinople,  now  to  that  of  Arthur,  and  an  incident  is 
used  which  occurs  in  the  Ephesian  tales  of  Xenophon  of 
Ephesus,  and  then  in  Chariton's  story  of  Chcereas  and  Calir- 
rhoe.     This  is  the  feigning  of  death  by  the  heroine,  the  same 


THE  ARTHURIAN  LEGEND.  17I 

motif  \}i\2X  reappears  in  the  saga  oi  Romeo  and  Jidiet^  although 
it  is  there  made  to  bring  about  a  tragical  conclusion.  We 
can  also  perceive  in  William  of  Palermo  a  certain  relation- 
ship with  Sophistic  or  Byzantine  love-romances.  Its  plot, 
in  which  various  elements  are  blended,  may  have  been  elab- 
orated among  the  Normans  in  Sicily  or  southern  Italy. 

But  the  Celtic  traditions  were  of  paramount  importance 
in  the  tales  of  adventure.^  Several  of  them  were  treated  in 
Breton  lais^  and  afterwards  recited  and  sung  by  Yx^x\c\\  Jong- 
leurs. Then  followed  the  romances,  in  prose  or  verse,  of  art- 
poets  and  professional  authors.  Many  foreign  elements,  ori- 
ental and  otherwise,  were  mingled  with  these  sagas  in  their  mi- 
gration, sometimes  naively,  sometimes  with  conscious  purpose. 
Since  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  had  given  the  tradition  of 
Arthur  a  permanent  form,  it  had  drawn  a  mass  of  other 
Celtic  traditions,  sagas,  and  tales  into  its  magic  circle.  The 
names  of  new  Arthurian  heroes,  besides  those  well  known 
in  Geoffrey,  were  now  added,  as  well  as  numerous  advent- 
ures and  exploits  ascribed  to  them.  The  same  tales  were 
in  some  cases  transferred  from  more  ancient  to  more  recent 
names ;  thus,  Launcelot  is  made  the  lover  of  the  queen  in 
Arthurian  romance,  a  role  filled  by  Mordred  in  Geoffrey. 
Quite  independent  invention  began  to  act  upon  the  saga- 
formation  as  early  as  Crestien  de  Troyes,  the  most  ancient 
poet  of  the  Arthurian  romances  known  to  us;  the  Cliget,  for 
instance,  looks  Hke  an  attempt  to  cater  to  the  interest  felt  in 
France  concerning  Byzantium  during  the  seventies  of  the 
twelfth  century,  by  introducing  a  Byzantine  hero  into  the 
circle  of  Arthurian  knights,  at  the  same  time,  as  we  have 
seen,  employing  fictions  borrowed  from  Late -Greek  ro- 
mances. 

The  Arthurian  saga  even  drew  ecclesiastical  legends  to 
itself  It  did  not  lack  religious  moments  in  Geoffrey  of 
Monmouth,  and  they  sometimes  gave  a  shade  of  mystery  to 
his  narrative.  Mysticism  first  entered  the  Arthurian  cycle 
in  the  Graal-saga. 

In  the  second  half  of  the  eleventh  century,  fancy  seems  to 
have  been  often  busied  with  the  question.  What  had  become 

1  Some  recent  scholars  do  not  class  the  romances  of  Arthur  and  Tristan  ivith  the 
romatis  d' aveniures — so  far  rightly  as  the  Middle  Ages,  to  speak  with  Shakspere, 
had  a  "particular  addition"  in  readiness  for  this  group  within  the  class;  nevertheless 
they  "go  in  the  catalogue  "  with  the  others. 


172  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

of  the  chalice,  the  dish  with  which  Christ  had  celebrated  the 
Lord's  supper  ?  Men's  hearts  were  drawn  by  a  longing  de- 
sire toward  the  Holy  Land,  toward  the  places  where  the 
Saviour  had  lived  and  suffered  ;  with  their  memories  and  rel- 
ics. And  how  could  there  be  a  more  sacred  relic  than  that 
cup  ?  It  was  holier  than  the  cross  itself  on  which  Christ 
had  redeemed  the  world.  The  dogmatic  controversy  on 
transubstantiation  between  Lanfranc  and  Berengar  turned 
men's  thoughts  in  the  same  direction.  It  is  no  wonder, 
therefore,  that  the  poet  of  the  Charlemagne  makes  the  great 
emperor  bring  the  holy  cup  with  him,  among  other  relics. 
This  was,  however,  only  a  sign  of  the  time ;  it  formed  no 
starting-point  for  the  development  of  a  legend  of  the  com- 
munion-cup. 

Nothing  was  perhaps  better  adapted  to  originate  such  a 
legend  than  the  history  of  the  man  who  had  taken  the  body 
of  Christ  from  the  cross  and  buried  it,  Joseph  of  Arimathea. 
The  older  church-legend  had  made  him  a  new  witness  to 
the  resurrection  of  Christ ;  since  the  Risen  One  was  said  to 
have  liberated  him  from  the  dungeon  into  which  the  Jews 
had  cast  him,  and  to  have  guided  him  to  his  dwelling.  It 
was  but  natural  to  make  Joseph  also  a  witness  to  the  mys- 
tery of  transubstantiation.  Again,  Joseph's  imprisonment 
had  been  changed,  by  the  mingling  of  legends  and  by 
chronological  confusion,  from  a  very  brief  one  into  a  con- 
finement lasting  forty  years.  Another  expedient  now  took 
the  place  of  Joseph's  liberation  by  the  risen  Christ ;  the 
Saviour  provides  the  prisoner  with  food  and  light,  by  bring- 
ing to  him  the  communion  chalice,  the  Graal,  (/.  ^.,  dish). 

The  Graal-saga  seems  to  have  been  attached  in  France 
to  the  legend  of  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  and  many  tokens 
point  to  the  eastern  territory,  then  belonging  to  the  German 
empire,  the  region  of  the  Vosges,  as  its  location. 

This  was  probably  also  the  home  of  the  knight  Robert 
de  Boron,  who,  in  the  sixties  of  the  twelfth  century,  wrote 
nis  poem  on  the  Graal  known  by  the  name  Le  petit  sai?it 
Graal.  It  was  later  put  into  prose.  It  has,  throughout,  the 
character  of  a  legend,  whose  centre  is  the  Graal.  The  per- 
sonages are  Joseph,  his  brother-in-law  Bron,  the  children  of 
die  latter,  and  their  companions.  The  action  lies  in  the 
Orient.     Near  the  close,  Bron's  children  go  at  God's  com- 


LEGEND  OF  THE  GRAAL.  1 73 

mand  to  the  valleys  of  Avaron  (?)  to  convert  the  nations ; 
Bron  is  to  bear  the  Graal  with  him  to  the  Occident.  There 
one  of  his  descendants  will  succeed  him  in  its  guardianship, 
as  its  last  custodian.  The  idea  of  a  mystical  church,  beside 
the  visible  and  official  one,  seems  to  underlie  the  whole ;  a 
church  having  its  own  apostles  and  ministers.  It  would  be 
interesting  to  examine  into  the  question,  how  far  the  dog- 
matic views  of  certain  sects  of  that  age  were  here  involved. 

This  legend  found  fruitful  soil  in  England,  where,  under 
Henry  IL,  the  tendencies  toward  ecclesiastical  independence 
were  reviving.  It  was  used  to  prove  the  origin  of  the  Eng- 
lish church  as  independent  of  Rome.  Joseph,  who  remains 
in  the  Orient  in  Robert  de  Boron's  version,  now  comes  to 
England  with  his  son  Josephe  and  other  associates ;  the  son 
is  a  new  and  important  personage,  consecrated  a  bishop  by 
Christ  himself.  They  convert  the  land  to  Christianity; 
Joseph  and  his  son  die  and  are  buried  there.  This  is  the 
legend  as  given  in  the  prose  narrative  known  by  the  title  Le 
grand  St.  Graal.  The  story  is  otherwise  much  modified,  and 
has  been  prolonged  by  new  characters  and  episodes.  The 
Graal  plays  an  important  part,  as  does  the  mystery  of  tran- 
substantiation.  There  is  further  a  marvellous  shield,  pos- 
sessed by  Joseph.  A  martial,  chivalric  element  has  in  this 
already  united  with  the  rehgious,  and  connected  the  legend 
with  the  Arthurian  saga.  The  dynasties  founded  by  the 
missionaries  of  Great  Britain,  who  espoused  daughters  of  the 
native  kings,  are  carried  down  to  Arthur.  The  Graal  is  kept 
in  a  Northumbrian  forest,  and  there  a  "  pure  youth,"  Gala- 
had, the  son  of  Launcelot,  is  at  last  to  find  it. 

Continuing  this  narrative,  another  prose  romance.  La 
queste  del  Saint  Graal,  conducts  us  into  the  midst  of  the 
time  and  the  knightly  circle  of  Arthur.  Among  all  the 
knights  who  seek  the  Graal,  Galahad  alone  succeeds.  The 
Graal,  from  which  Christ  himself  has  come  forth  and  admin- 
istered the  eucharist,  is  then  borne  back  to  the  Orient  by 
Galahad,  accompanied  by  Parcival  and  Bohors.  On  the 
death  of  Galahad  it  is  removed  to  heaven. 

Both  of  these  romances,  as  well  as  others,  are  ascribed, 
from  manuscript  notes,  to  Walter  Map,  who  lived  in  the 
reign  of  Henry  II.,  and  who  is  said  to  have  translated  them 
fronj  the  Latin.     Whether  this  is  accurate  can  be  decided,  if 


174  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

ever,  only  when  we  have  a  critical  edition  of  these  texts, 
made  from  the  manuscripts,  which  are  evidently  much  later, 
and  are  in  no  respect  Anglo-Norman.  But,  from  internal 
evidence,  there  seems  no  doubt  that  these  romances  arose, 
in  substance,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  II. 

Crestien  de  Troyes  wrote  his  Conte  del  Graal  in  the  ninth 
or  tenth  decade  of  the  twelfth  century.  In  this  the  hero  is 
not  Galahad,  but  Parcival,  and  the  chivalric,  romantic  ele- 
ment comes  so  far  into  the  foreground  that  the  legend  prop- 
er is  but  dimly  visible;  the  Graal  is  still  the  remote  object 
of  the  action,  but  it  no  longer  forms  the  central  theme  of  the 
narrative.  Unhappily,  Crestien  did  not  finish  his  poem,  and 
did  not  reach  the  point  where  most  of  the  links  connecting 
it  with  the  legend  would  have  become  visible.  Those  who 
continued,  interpolated,  and  imitated  his  work  in  France, 
interest  us  here  less  than  his  German  interpreter.  Wolfram. 
He  completed  the  narrative,  diverging  throughout  from  the 
legend,  and  if,  as  an  artist,  he  did  not  quite  master  his  fan- 
tastic subject-matter,  he  at  least  raised  it,  as  a  whole,  by 
psychological  profundity,  and  a  pervading  ideal  spirit  of  true 
piety  and  beautiful  humanity,  into  a  higher,  truly  poetical 
sphere.  What  new  matter  he  offered  must  be  ascribed 
either  to  himself  or  to  the  Provengal  Kyot,  whom  he  names, 
but  who  has  otherwise  left  no  traces. 

The  saga  of  Tristan  takes  the  first  place  among  the  Cel- 
tic traditions  which  continued  long  independent  of  the  Ar- 
thurian saga,  and  therefore  purer.  Several  of  its  Old  French 
versions  are  preserved  (the  larger,  only  in  fragments),  while 
the  Tristan  romance  of  Crestien  de  Troyes  seems  to  have 
been  entirely  lost.  The  strophic  form  employed  by  the 
jongleurs  in  the  recital  of  their  songs  has  been  plainly  made 
out  in  some  passages  of  ancient  Tristan  romances.  This 
confirms  the  theory  by  which  a  portion  of  the  court-romances 
actually  rest  upon  such  songs,  which  in  their  turn  oftentimes 
presuppose  a  basis  of  Breton  lais.  At  the  same  time,  we 
see  how  the  short  couplet,  which  is  the  standing  form  of 
the  court-romance,  was  not  only  transmitted  to  it  from  the 
legendary,  didactic,  historical  poems,  but  was  also  sug- 
gested to  it  by  those  songs  to  which  it  was  indebted  for  its 
own  subject-matter.  Other  tokens  indicate  that  a  short 
strophe  composed  of  eight-syllabled  lines,  with  single  or  al- 


METRE  AND  STVLE.  I75 

ternating  rhymes,  was  a  favourite  form  for  many  subjects  in 
this  jongleur-'^ot\xy .  Even  the  most  ancient  piece  of  epic 
art-poetry  in  France,  the  Alexander  of  Alberic  de  BesanQon, 
is  written  in  tirades  of  eight-syllabled  lines. 

The  simple  form  of  the  short  couplet  offered  to  the  romance- 
poet  no  scope  to  compete  in  metrical  technique  with  the 
skilled  court-lyrists.  He  could  prove  his  art  only  within  a 
limited  portion  of  this  field ;  in  the  treatment  of  the  enjambe- 
ptefit,  and  particularly  of  rhyme.  The  poet  strove  not  only 
to  form  pure  rhymes,  but  often  to  carry  them  forward  with 
more  syllables  than  were  essential,  and  he  was  fond  of  all 
sorts  of  grammatical  devices  in  rhyme.  And  with  this  is 
connected  a  tendency  most  fully  developed,  it  is  true,  among 
the  epigonic  representatives  of  courtly  art,  the  tendency  gen- 
erally to  place  words  of  like  sound,  or  cognate  words,  close 
together  for  the  stronger  emphasis  of  the  thought. 

The  diction  is  but  slightly  sensuous,  and  rarely  makes  use 
of  bold  images.  Full  similes  occur,  but  not  so  often  as  in 
the  court-lyric. 

The  entire  language  differs  from  prose  mainly  in  greater 
elegance,  copiousness,  and  finish.  Less  severe  than  the 
Norman  clerical  poetry,  the  French  art-epic  is  not  averse  to 
pleasing  digression,  to  a  certain  freedom  in  construction,  and 
does  not  shun  the  parenthesis.  The  art  of  the  poets  of  the 
court-epic  appears  in  the  moderate  use  of  such  freedom, 
which  must  not  impair  the  clearness  of  speech,  and  in  the 
happy  conquest  of  metrical  obstacles  in  such  a  way  that 
rhyme  and  measure  never  retard  the  free  flow  of  thought, 
but  seem  to  promote  it,  smoothing  transitions,  and  more 
clearly  bringmg  out  contrasts. 

In  the  higher  sense,  this  art  proves  itself  in  the  choice  of 
material;  in  the  rejection  of  superfluous  things;  in  the  in- 
vention or  skilful  insertion  of  episodes ;  in  the  correct  ar- 
rangement of  the  different  passages  of  the  narrative,  whereby 
the  general  relation  of  parts  is  made  evident  at  a  glance ;  in 
the  happy  gradation  of  themes,  whereby  interest  is  enhanced ; 
and  finally,  in  the  psychological  deduction  of  action  from 
character. 

Again,  the  age  required  of  the  epic  poet  as  vivid  a  repre- 
sentation of  chivalric  life  and  the  chivalric  ideal  as  he  could 
give.^    Hence  we  have  the  full  description  of  battles,  festivals^ 


176  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

love-scenes,  weapons,  dress;  hence  the  dialogue,  worked 
out  with  special  care,  treating  questions  of  knightly  honour 
and  love,  oi  p7'ouesse  and  courtoisie ;  now  by  subtle  irony 
bringing  back  to  us  an  age  that  strove  to  excel  by  intellect- 
ual superiority  as  well  as  by  external  accomplishments;  now, 
in  a  quick  exchange  of  repartees,  attesting  the  fecundity  and 
mental  alertness  of  the  epoch. 

The  epic  poet  is  fond  of  interrupting  his  narrative  by  eth- 
ical and  psychological  reflections,  in  which  he  makes  a  fine, 
and  often  an  acute,  analysis  of  feelings. 

We  may  expect  a  comprehensive  unity  of  action  only 
when  it  comes  to  the  poet  with  his  material.  With  a  mass 
of  disconnected  adventures  before  him,  he  is  content  to  give 
motive  and  significance  to  the  deeds  of  his  main  heroes,  to 
take  care  that  our  interest  in  their  destinies  shall  not  flag, 
but,  if  possible,  be  increased,  and  above  all  that  we  shall  not 
be  bored.  The  central  ideas  of  the  court-romances  are 
usually  those  of  court  and  chivalry,  continually  repeated  in 
act  or  speech. 

Two  men  in  particular  seem  to  have  promoted  the  growth 
of  the  court-romance :  the  unknown  author  of  the  £neas,^ 
and  still  more  than  he,  Crestien  de  Troyes. 

Crestien  was  at  once  the  most  fertile  and  the  most  culti- 
vated poet  in  this  sphere;  he  was  also  one  of  the  earliest, 
having  begun  his  career  not  long  after  1150. 

Others  surpassed  him  at  times  in  the  choice  of  subject- 
matter  or  in  single  excellences ;  not  one  combined  so  per- 
fectly as  he  all  the  traits  of  the  court-poet ;  not  one  moves 
with  such  sureness  upon  the  narrow  line  laid  down  by  his 
art  as  he;  not  one  knew  how  so  wisely  to  restrain  himself 
in  indulgence. 

As  he  was  a  virtuoso  in  language  and  metre,  and  was  dis- 
tinguished for  his  art  in  narration,  for  a  fine  sense  in  finding 
and  applying  psychological  motive,  he  was  likewise  conspic- 
uous for  the  noble  sentiment  which  enabled  him  to  work  out 
the  chivalric  ideals  in  their  most  pure  and  humane  spirit. 
Good- will  and  delicacy  of  feeling  with  him  underlie  the  po- 
lite forms  of  courtly  intercourse,  and  it  is  deep  human  sym- 
pathy and  genuine,  manly  honour,  as  well  as  lust  of  fame 

'  His  identity  with  Benoit  de  Sainte  More  seems  to  me  very  improbable. 


CLASSES  OF  THE  METRICAL  TALE.  1 77 

and  thirst  for  action,  which  impel  the  knight  to  his  ad\'ent- 
ures. 

Nevertheless,  the  conventional  element  is  too  strong,  and 
we  are  not  surprised  that,  with  the  epigonic  poets,  it  almost 
overgrew  all  ethical  substance  and  soon  gave  birth  to  satire. 

Beside  the  metrical  romance  appeared  the  shorter  metrical 
tale.  It  certainly  developed  very  early  from  the  songs  of 
\hQ  Jongleurs,  although  its  extant  monuments  do  not  go  back 
beyond  the  second  half  of  the  twelfth  century,  and  it  did  not 
begin  truly  to  flourish  before  the  thirteenth.  The  tale  was 
decidedly  influenced  in  form  and  tone  by  the  romance,  and 
it  took  a  courtly  cast.  Nevertheless,  it  remained  unostenta- 
tious, and  preserved  much  freedom,  which  indeed  often  went 
beyond  the  bounds  of  propriety. 

There  are  three  divisions  in  this  class :  the  lai,  which 
claims  to  rest'  upon  songs,  usually  those  of  Breton  origin ; 
the  fabliau,  and  the  dit.  The  last  two  do  not  make  this 
claim,  and  they  differ  from  each  other  in  that  the  former  is 
more  popular,  and  the  latter  betrays  a  tinge  of  erudition,  as 
weU  as  a  didactic,  and  at  times  rehgious,  bias.  Naturally 
these  classes  often  ran  into  each  other,  especially  t\\Q  fabliau 
and  the  dit,  the  distinctive  names  being  often  arbitrarily  ap- 
plied. 

The  short  couplet  was  common  to  all  three ;  besides  this, 
the  dit  employed  other  forms,  particularly  after  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  the  new  form  was  often  a  single-rhymed  strophe 
of  Alexandrines,  composed  usually  of  four  lines. 

These  names  do  not  always  denote  an  epic  presentation. 
As  the  word  lai,  strictly  meaning  "  song,"  in  the  lyrical  po- 
etry designates  a  poem  rendered  in  a  popular  tone  and  com- 
posed of  unequal  strophes,  so  the  form  and  name  of  the  dit 
and  the  fabliau  lend  themselves  to  didactic  and  satirical 
works,  to  enumerations,  descriptions  of  manners,  and  the 
like.  Two  or  more  personified  things  are  often  brought  for- 
ward in  them  and  made  to  contend  for  precedence, — and  thus 
arises  a  class  of  poetry  also  having  its  special  names  [desbat, 
dcsputoison,  estrif)  and  recalling  the  Jeu  parti  of  the  art- 
lyric. 

So  far  as  mere  narrative  is  concerned,  three  prominent 
cycles  of  material  are  to  be  distinguished  :  the  Celtic  saga, 
which  is  mainly  at  home  in  the  lais ;   the  legend,  which 

M 


178  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

by  its  alliance  with  secular  narrative  yields  the  conte  devot ^ 
that  adapts  itself  easily  to  the  dit ;  finally  and  chiefly,  the 
oriental  tale,  which  is  wont  to  join  itself  to  every  other  kind 
of  tradition.  The  fragments  of  the  Teutonic  myth  can  be- 
long but  to  the  second  rank ;  likewise  matter  borrowed  from 
ancient  authors,  who  in  their  turn  owe  much  to  the  Orient, 
to  domestic  saga  connected  with  actual  occurrences,  and  to 
pure  invention. 

The  .great  masi  of  the  materials  of  the  mediaeval  tales 
came  from  India.  They  circulated  in  part  singly,  either  in 
writing  or  orally;  in  part,  and  no  doubt  chiefly,  in  greater 
collections,  where  a  series  of  single  tales  were  bound  together 
by  a  superior  one,  as  by  a  frame.  Through  Persian, 
Arabian,  Rabbinic  versions,  these  collections  reached  Eu- 
rope, where  they  found  entrance  to  the  Middle  Latin  litera- 
ture, both  from  the  east  through  the  Greek,  and  by  another 
and  direct  course.  Often  modified,  expanded,  abridged, 
robbed  of  older  stories,  increased  by  new  ones,  these  cycles 
of  tales  and  fables  still  frequently  betray  their  oriental  origin, 
even  in  their  most  recent  occidental  forms.  ^ 

In  the  long  journey  from  India  to  the  Atlantic  ocean, 
many  single  tales  became  detached  from  their  larger  connec- 
tion, and  they,  too,  suffered  many  vicissitudes.  They  usually 
continued  their  separate  existence  on  through  several  meta- 
morphoses, but  they  often  incorporated  themselves  with  an- 
other equally  ancient,  or  some  newly-created  whole. 

Of  all  the  western  literatures,  the  French  was  the  first  to 
adopt  these  materials,  both  taking  up  single  tales,  and  ab- 
sorbing entire  collections. 

Two  such  collections  may  be  mentioned  here :  the  Book 
of  the  Seven  Sages  and  the  Disciplina  dericalis. 

The  former,  whose  history  may  be  traced  back  to  India, 
although  the  Indian  original  is  lost,  presented  itself  to  French 
poets  in  twofold  form.  The  type,  which  we  will  call  His- 
toria  Septem  sapientum  Ro??iae,  is  more  widely  circulated,  and 
nearer  the  ancient  tradition,  and  it  comprises  many  varieties. 
Several  French  versions  under  the  name  Roman  des  sept  sages, 
are  to  be  traced  to  this  source.  The  other  originated  in 
Lorraine  in  the  year  1184,  from  the  pen  of  John,  a  monk  of 
the  abbey  Haute  Seille  {altasilva).  It  is  notable,  both  in 
details  and  as  a  whole,  for  many  distinctive  and  peculiar 


LAI  AND  FABLIAU.  1 79 

qualities.  These  may  be  partially  explained  by  the  fact  that 
the  author  was  but  imperfectly  acquainted  with  the  tradi- 
tion, and  drew  much  new  matter  from  oral  communication. 
Some  of  the  single  tales  given  by  him  were  doubtless  in  cir- 
culation among  the  people  of  his  district.  The  connective 
or  frame-story,  though  identical  in  its  outlines  with  that  of 
other  compilations,  underwent  changes  which  perhaps  owed 
their  origin  to  the  Normans  in  Sicily  or  southern  Italy. 
This  work,  known  by  the  title  Dolopathos,  was  translated  into 
French  verse  at  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century,  by  a 
poet  named  Herbert. 

The  Disciplina  clericalis,  framed  by  a  dialogue  between 
an  Arabian  philosopher  and  his  son,  was  rendered  in  Spain 
in  the  year  iio6,  from  Arabian  sources,  by  a  baptised  Jew, 
Petrus  Alphonsus.  It  was  at  least  twice  translated  into 
French ;  the  best  known  version  is  entitled  Le  castoiement 
d^un  pere  a  so?ißls. 

In  moulding  these  foreign  materials  French  poetry  dis- 
played great  powers  of  assimilation ;  particularly  as  regards 
single  tales,  whose  matter  it  converted  entirely  into  its  own 
flesh  and  blood. 

The  Breton  lais  retain  most  fully  their  native  fragrance. 
They  are  usually  romantic  even  when  the  topic  is  comic. 
But  this  is  generally  calculated  to  awaken  seriousness  and 
emotion ;  the  poem  is  often  pervaded  by  a  tone  of  elegiac 
longing. 

The  fabliau  in  no  respect  excludes  seriousness,  but  its 
dominant  spirit  is  jocund  and  sportive,  and  though  it  often 
falls  into  licentiousness,  it  always  maintains,  with  arch 
naivete,  a  certain  epic  dignity.  It  often  represents  husbands, 
peasants,  merchants,  and  especially  clergymen,  in  delicate 
situations,  exposes  the  morals  of  the  time  with  much  spright- 
liness,  and  with  broad  derision  pillories  the  servants  of  the 
church.  '  As  we  saw,  the  dit  readily  lent  its  name  to  pious, 
half-legendary  tales,  but  was  equally  at  home  with  every 
material;  later  it  yielded  the  form  in  which  many  of  the 
more  compendious  romances  were  brought  within  a  brief 
compass. 

In  the  poetical  tale  the  art  of  narrating,  in  which,  even  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  the  French  excelled,  did  not,  as  in  the  romance, 
have  to  contend  with  a  vast  and  confused  subject-matter. 


l8o  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

The  matter,  as  such,  was  attractive  and  already  contained 
the  unity  of  interest,  proceeding  from  the  unity  of  conception. 
The  poet  needed  but  dehcately  to  work  out  the  details,  and 
to  adorn  them  with  the  simple  grace  which  many  a  French- 
man had  at  command. 

IX. 

Both  Normans  and  Anglo-Normans  took  most  active  part 
in  this  entire  epic  literature.  They  developed  the  sagas  of 
Arthur  and  Tristan  and  gave  them  to  the  French,  and  with- 
out them  the  Graal-saga  would  not  have  unfolded.  Neither 
did  the  Normans  lack  poets  who  gave  these  and  other  ma- 
terials the  form  of  art.  They  cultivated  the  court-romance 
with  success,  but,  both  in  England  and  on  the  Continent, 
they  won  deserved  fame,  especially  in  the  lai  and  the  fabliau. 
Other  names  in  this  field  were  eclipsed  by  that  of  Marie  de 
France,  who,  although  born  in  France,  certainly  spent  a 
large  part  of  her  life  in  England.  Marie's  lais  are  distin- 
guished by  noble,  touching  simplicity,  by  a  refined  concep- 
tion, and  graceful  expression.  Her  translation  of  ^sop's 
Fables^  founded  upon  an  English  original  traced  to  a  king 
of  enigmatical  name,  displays  many  qualities  which  make 
her  a  worthy  forerunner  of  La  Fontaine. 

Marie  de  France  cannot  properly  be  counted  among  the 
true  Anglo-Norman  poets,  on  account  of  the  purity  of  her 
language  and  verse.  At  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  when  she  wrote,  the  corruption  of  the  Norman 
tongue  had  already  proceeded  far;  and  the  influence  of 
English  metrical  art  upon  the  French  was  making  itself 
strongly  felt  with  most  poets.  The  fundamental  principle 
of  syllabic  versification  and  the  purport  of  the  caesura  were 
often  misconceived,  and  different  kinds  of  verse  mingled 
together.  Such  metrical  peculiarities  occur  even  in  the 
Anglo-Norman  poems  of  the  second  half  of  the  twelfth 
century. 

Besides  the  romance,  the  lai^  and  the  fabliau,  the  Anglo- 
Normans  continued  to  cultivate  the  legend  and  other 
branches  of  religious  poetry,  and  not  least,  historical  poetry. 

The  poetical  presentation  of  history  took  a  new  impetus 
under  Henry  H.,  and  largely  through  his  incitement.     We 


HISTORICAL  POETRY.  l8l 

have  seen  that  Wace  wrote  for  him  his  Roman  de  Rou. 
When  Wace  lost  royal  favour,  Master  Benoit,  who  is  certainly 
none  other  than  Benoit  de  Sainte  More,  had,  at  the  commis- 
sion of  the  sovereign,  begun  a  new  chronicle  of  the  Norman 
dukes.  This  is  notable  for  faults  and  virtues  similar  to  those 
of  the  Roman  de  Troie,  At  about  the  same  time,  Jordan 
Fantosme,  chancellor  of  Winchester  cathedral,  described 
the  war  of  Henry  II.  against  Scotland  (1173-1174).  This 
work  purports  to  have  been  founded  upon  the  statements 
of  eye-witnesses  and  it  leaves  an  impression  of  impartiality 
and  historical  fidelity,  save  in  so  far  as  the  poetical  form  and 
style,  to  which  a  lively  dialogue  at  times  lends  a  rich  charm, 
have  sometimes  warped  the  truth.  As  Lambert  the  Crooked 
had  done  in  his  Alexander  romance,  Jordan  chose  for  his 
poem,  with  happy  touch,  the  epic  strain  of  x\lexandrines. 
This  was  then  generally  becoming  a  favourite  form,  and 
was  beginning  to  displace  the  ten-syllabled  line  in  the  chan- 
son de  geste,  and  to  rival  the  short  couplet  in  other  classes 
of  poetry.  Jordan  constructed  his  Alexandrines  with  Anglo- 
Norman  freedom,  in  a  manner  suggesting  both  the  English 
long  line  and  the  catalectic  iambic  tetrameter,  and  unques- 
tionably to  be  traced  to  English  influence.  Finally,  he  in- 
serted also  lines  of  ten  syllables.  Sixty  or  seventy  years 
later,  the  unknown  poet  of  a  legend  of  St.  Alban  ( Vie  de 
semt  Auban)  proceeded  in  exactly  the  same  way. 

King  Henry  conquered  a  part  of  Ireland  in  the  year  1 172, 
and  in  the  beginning  of  the  following  century,  the  conquest 
was  described  by  an  unknown  poet,  who  seems  to  have  been 
both  well-informed  and  honestly  desirous  of  presenting,  to 
the  best  of  his  ability,  what  he  had  learned. 

The  national  English  or  Anglo- Danish  traditions,  as  has 
been  hinted,  soon  attracted  the  Norman  poets.  A  Norman 
song  of  Havelok  must  have  appeared  as  early  as  the  begin- 
ning of  the  twelfth  century ;  and  upon  this  was  founded  both 
the  version  of  the  saga  in  Gaimar,  and  a  younger  poem, 
probably  not  much  later  than  11 50.  Strangely  enough,  this 
poem  alluded  to  a  Breton  lai  as  its  source,  and  other  traces 
go  to  show  that  the  Celts,  either  upon  the  British  isle  or  the 
Continent,  had  really  taken  up  this  entirely  un- Celtic  tradi- 
tion. 

Whjle  the  saga  of  Havelok  thus  took  the  form  of  a  lai^ 


l82  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

the  Horn-sdigdi  was  clothed  in  the  form  and  style  of  the  chan- 
S071  de  geste. 

The  latter  change  was  still  more  pronounced  in  the  saga 
of  Beuves  de  Hanstofie,  which  was  connected,  in  its  French 
form,  directly  with  the  Carlovingian  cycle  of  sagas.  On  the 
contrary,  Guy  of  Warwick  was  cast  into  a  court-romance. 

Personages  from  Anglo-Norman  history,  too,  were  cele- 
brated in  romantic  poems,  in  the  course  of  the  thirteenth 
century.  We  have  already  mentioned  Baron  Fulke  Fitz 
Warin,  who  was  outlawed  by  King  John.  The  adventurous 
life  of  the  monk  Eustace  fell  in  the  time  of  the  same  king. 
Eustace  passed  for  a  master  of  the  black  art.  Born  in  the 
territory  of  the  Count  of  Boulogne,  he  came  to  England  in 
the  latter  part  of  his  life,  where  he  formed  close  relations 
with  King  John,  which  were  at  first  friendly,  and  later,  hos- 
tile. Finally,  no  less  a  personage  than  Richard  Coeur  de 
Lion  became  a  subject  of  poetry,  as  he  had  early  been  a 
hero  of  the  folk-saga. 

Let  us  return  to  the  time  of  Henry  IL  In  the  same 
epoch  which  saw  the  French  and  Provencal  poesy  grow 
to  highest  splendour,  the  mediaeval  renaissance,  the  revival 
of  classical  study  in  England,  reached  its  culmination.  Its 
masters  were  wont  to  get  incentive  and  instruction  in  France; 
there,  in  spite  of  much  hostility,  the  study  of  the  antique  had 
not  yet  receded,  before  religious  fanaticism  and  the  over- 
growth of  dialectical  scholasticism,  into  the  background  of 
the  ecclesiastical  horizon,  and  it  was  already  fertilising  the 
national  literature.  Not  only  Virgil  and  Statins  v/ere  turned 
into  French ;  but  before  all  others,  Ovid,  the  poet  of  polite 
Roman  society,  received  the  applause  of  that  courtly  age. 
Crestien  de  Troyes  (probably  at  the  beginning  of  his  career) 
had  already  translated  the  Ars  amaiidi  and  the  Remcdia 
amoris,  as  well  as  numerous  myths  from  the  Metamorphoses; 
and  many  subsequently  followed  his  example. 

In  greater  or  less  proximity,  there  were  grouped  about  the 
court  of  Henry  II,  a  number  of  ecclesiastics,  who  were  often 
employed  also  in  political  affairs.  They  united  great  learn- 
ing with  a  certain  man-of-the-world  culture,  and  in  devoting 
their  leisure  hours  to  literature,  they  did  not  forget  the  pres- 
ciU  in  antiquity,  nor  life  in  theory.  They  were  fond  of  writ- 
ing about  the  history  of  their  time,  or  the  topography  of 


THE  POLYCRATICUS.  1 83 

their  country ;  they  oftentimes  regale  us  with  anecdotes,  as 
well  as  legends  and  sagas  illustrating  the  mental  tendencies 
of  that  time,  and  depict  with  keen  observation,  lifelike  touch, 
and  fresh  colours  the  morals  of  the  epoch,  the  life  of  the 
clergy,  of  the  orders,  and  the  doings  at  the  court. 

Above  all  others,  John  of  Salisbury  was  conspicuous  for 
his  learning  and  culture.  He  had  laid  in  Chartres  and  Paris 
the  groundwork  of  his  knowledge  of  the  classics,  of  philoso- 
phy and  theology.  He  was  the  friend,  confidant,  and  biog- 
rapher of  Thomas  Beket,  was  later  bishop  of  Chartres,  and 
died  in  1180.  His  greatest  work,  called  Folycraticus^  was 
produced  in  about  the  years  1156-1159.  It  is  remarkable 
for  the  vast  reading  displayed,  which  includes  the  writings 
of  Plato  and  Aristotle,  as  far  as  they  were  then  accessible  to 
the  author  in  translations ;  for  the  spirit  pervading  and  illu- 
minating the  massive  and  not  inartistically  ordered  material ; 
and  finally,  for  a  graphic  style  in  thoroughly  good  Latin. 
Beginning  with  an  account  of  the  foUies  and  immoralities 
of  the  court,  the  author  proceeds  to  the  most  important  in- 
vestigations, notably  in  politics  and  philosophy.  In  the  lat- 
ter field  he  discusses  the  different  systems  of  ancient  philoso- 
phy, and  closes  the  subject  with  an  exposition  of  his  own  es- 
sentially ethical  system.  John's  Metalogicus^  written  in  1 159, 
deals  with  logic,  and  here  he  duly  puts  down  an  opponent 
who  had  taunted  him  on  account  of  his  studies  in  philosophy. 

The  famous  Walter  Map,  John's  contemporary,  was  less 
subtle  and  profound,  was  more  secular,  and  more  harsh  and 
sharp  in  the  expression  of  his  satirical  moods,  but  he  had 
learning  and  classical  knowledge,  was  a  man  of  great  intel- 
lectual power,  and  genuine  moral  sense.  He  took  a  high 
place  at  the  English  court,  often  accompanied  the  king  on 
his  journeys,  and  died  soon  after  11 96  as  archdeacon  of 
Oxford.  Posterity  has  connected  with  his  name  a  great 
number  of  Latin  and  French  works ;  among  these  are  ro- 
mances of  Arthur  and  the  Graal  in  prose,  and  rollicking 
student  songs.  His  De  nugis  curialium  gives  us  a  true  image 
of  his  personality.  This,  as  the  title  shovvs,^  was  suggested 
by  the  Polycraticus^  but  is  not  to  be  compared  with  it  in 
scientific  importance.  Yet  it  contains  much  more  circum- 
stantial description  of  the  English  court  and  English  society, 

I  A  sub-title  of  the  Polycraticus  is  De  migis  curialimn. 


184  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

and  its  anecdotes  and  tales,  its  occasional  comments,  its 
spice  of  satire,  directed  especially  against  the  Cistercians, 
offer  rich  material  to  the  historian  of  culture. 

The  letters  of  Peter  of  Blois,  the  outcome  of  much  art 
and  erudition,  cast  a  welcome  light  upon  the  history  of  the 
time.  He,  too,  was  an  archdeacon,  first  of  Bath,  and  later 
of  London,  having  acted  meanwhile  (1191-1193)  as  secre- 
tary to  Queen  Eleanor.  He  survived  Map  but  a  few  years. 
In  his  youth,  he  had  written  love-poems ;  he  regretted  this 
later  without  being  able  quite  to  forget  his  pleasure  in  them. 
They  are  lost  as  well  as  Peter's  work.  De  gestis  Henrici. 

William  of  Newbury,  who  lived  from  1136  to  1208,  wrote 
the  history  of  his  time  down  to  the  year  1197,  in  an  attract- 
ive style,  influenced  by  the  manner  of  William  of  Malmes- 
bury.  The  age  was  beginning  to  make  demands  of  the 
historian,  which  could  not  but  spur  him  to  raise  his  art  above 
the  level  of  dry  annal  writing,  but  which  could  easily  allure 
him  into  paths  not  compatible  with  the  seriousness  of  his- 
tory. Above  all  were  demanded  interesting  details,  piquant 
tales,  legends,  and  the  like. 

This  taste  explains  the  appearance  of  such  works  as  the 
Otia  imperialia  of  Gervase  of  Tilbury,  a  layman  high  in 
favour  with  the  German  emperor,  Otto  IV.  This  book  was 
written  in  12 12  for  the  emperor's  amusement.  It  is  a  re- 
markable mixture  of  material  from  general  history,  geogra- 
phy, natural  philosophy,  popular  traditions,  and  legendary 
lore,  a  book,  too,  that,  to  this  day,  can  attract  and  hold  the 
reader.  In  earlier  years  Gervase  had  written  a  book  of  anec- 
dotes (Liber  facetiarum)  for  the  young  King  Henry,  who 
died  in  the  year  1183. 

The  historian  of  culture  likewise  finds  a  rich  treasure  of 
varied  material  in  the  numerous  writings  of  Gerald  de  Bary 
(died  12 1 7).  He  was  the  son  of  a  Norman  father,  and  a 
mother  related  to  the  Welsh  princes.  He  was  brought  up, 
as  a  youth,  in  Wales,  and  is  known  by  the  name  of  Giraldus 
Cambrensis.  He  was  a  man  of  comprehensive,  many-sided 
knowledge,  and  great  persuasiveness;  he  was  not  without 
vanity  and  ambition ;  with  all  his  keenness  of  intellect  and 
quick  observation,  he  was  rather  superstitious,  although  he 
rejected  with  contempt  the  fictions  of  Geoffrey  of  Mon- 
DiOuth.     His  writings  treat  theology,  politics,  topography, 


LATIN  POETRY.  185 

history,  lives  of  the  saints,  and  other  subjects,  and  their  style 
is  ever  lucid  and  pleasant,  oftentimes  pathetic  and  eloquent. 
His  Topographia  Hiberniae^  to  which  he  added  a  work  on 
the  conquest  of  Ireland  ( Expugnatio  Hibefinae),  as  well  as 
his  Topographia  Cambriae,  are  a  mine  for  the  antiquarian  and 
the  student  of  history  and  folk-lore.  His  autobiography 
(JDe  gesäs  Giraldi  Laboj'iosis)  is  also  interesting,  and  still 
more,  perhaps,  his  Speculum  Ecclesiae,  a  violent  satire  against 
the  monks  and  the  Roman  curia. 

Although  less  pleasing  and  more  dry  than  these,  the  De 
vita  et  gesiis  Henrici  IL  et  Ricardi  I,  is  an  invaluable  historical 
authority  for  the  period  from  1170  to  1192.  It  probably  ap- 
peared in  the  north  of  England.  Formerly  connected  with 
the  name  of  the  abbot  Benedict  of  Peterborough,  it  has 
been  ascribed  (probably  incorrectly)  by  some  recent  investi- 
gators to  Bishop  Richard  of  London  (died  1198),  the  son 
of  Nigel.  This  Richard  wrote  a  history  of  his  time  in  three 
rubrics,  (including,  i.  ecclesiastical  history,  2.  political  history, 
3.  miscellaneous  matter),  whence  the  title  Tiicolwnnis  or 
Tricolumnus.  This  work  was  apparently  lost,  but,  by  the 
scholars  alluded  to,  it  is  considered  identical  with  a  part  of 
the  Gesta  Henrici  II.  Another  work  of  Richard,  royal 
treasurer  from  about  11 58  to  his  death,  is  preserved;  this  is 
the  Diologus  de  scacca?'io,  dating  from  the  year  11 78,  and  it 
treats,  in  animated  style,  but  in  barbaric  Latin,  of  the  consti- 
tution and  conduct  of  the  exchequer.  About  ten  years 
later  the  lord  chief-justice  Ranulph  of  Glanvilla  wrote  his 
Tractatus  de  legibus  Angliae. 

Latin  poetry  was  no  less  cultivated  in  England  in  the 
second  half  of  the  twelfth  century  than  it  had  been  in  the 
first.  Nearly  all  of  the  notable  Latinists  whom  we  have  con- 
sidered wrote  Latin  verses — we  name  here  only  John  of 
Salisbury  and  Gerald  de  Bary.  Likewise  Alexander  Neck- 
am  (11 57-1 2 1 7),  perhaps  the  greatest  polyhistor  of  his 
time,  bequeathed  to  us  a  prose  and  a  poetical  natural  history, 
besides  many  grammatical  treatises. 

But  the  most  distinguished  of  all  the  English  poets  who 
ventured  to  contend  for  the  laurels  of  the  Latin  muse  was 
Joseph  of  Exeter,  the  singer  of  the  Trojan  war;  he  was  the 
worthy  peer  of  his  still  more  famous  French  contemporary 
Walter  de  Chatillon,  who,  following  Curtius  and  Justinus, 


l86  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

wrote  an  Alexandreis  in  verses  that  enchanted  the  Middle 
Ages.  ] 

During  the  reign  of  Richard.  JI.  the  laws  of  Latin  versi- 
fication were  collated,  with  illustrative  examples,  and  put 
into  verse,  by  Geoffrey  of  Vinsauf  (de  Vinosalvo),  also  called 
Galfridus  Anglicus.  This  poem,  named  Nova  poetria,  and 
dedicated  to  Pope  Innocent  III.,  has  litde  intrinsic  charm. 
It  was  begun  in  1193,  but  not  finished  until  after  King 
Richard's  death  (1199).  Its  influence  upon  the  versifiers  of 
the  thirteenth  century  was  decisive,  and  Geoffrey's  name  had 
good  repute  down  to  Chaucer's  time. 

Besides  the  more  scholastic  poetry,  the  Middle  Ages  knew 
a  Latin  poetry  of  another  sort,  a  poetry  which  moved  free 
and  unconstrained  in  the  ancient  language,  as  in  undress, 
and  was  more  closely  connected  with  actual  life.  This 
poetry  was  throughout  essentially  international,  and  seems 
to  have  been  cultivated  as  early  as  the  tenth  century,  and 
to  have  received  a  powerful  impulse  in  the  eleventh  and  in 
the  twelfth.  The  composers  of  this  non-academic  poetry 
came  mainly  from  the  younger  and  elder  youth  of  the  schools, 
the  clerks.  These,  inclined  by  nature  to  wandering,  roved 
from  land  to  land  in  the  age  of  the  crusades,  and  led  an  ad- 
venturous but  usually  a  rather  unedifying  life,  which  was  re- 
flected in  their  songs.  Their  favourite  themes  were  love 
and  wine;  in  which  they  followed  the  ancients,  but  quite 
independently.  In  the  manner  of  the  late  Latin  popular  po- 
etry and  a  great  part  of  the  ecclesiastical  songs,  whose  forms 
they  took  up,  they  were  wont  to  construct  their  verses  in 
rhythm  merely,  without  regard  to  quantity,  and  to  adorn  them 
with  rhyme,  which  they  often  handled  with  admirable  skill. 
Their  songs  were  most  probably  influential  in  the  beginnings 
of  the  Romanic  love-song,  as,  in  the  wider  range,  there  was 
a  reciprocal  influence  between  the  poetry  of  the  itinerant 
clerks  and  the  national  poetry  of  several  western  nations. 
They  kept  aloof  from  conventional  courtly  life ;  their  art  was 
the  undisguised  expression  of  exuberant  youthful  force,  carried 
away  by  classical  models  to  a  sort  of  pantheistic  enthusiasm 
for  nature  and  beauty.  Their  verses  had  a  fresh,  sprightly 
tone,  and  sometimes  a  truly  Bacchic  strain,  as  in  the  famous 
tnihi  est  proposiUim  in  taberna  ??ton.     This  was  a  fragment 


THE  VAGANTES.  1 87 

of  a  general  confession^  of  the  "archpoet  Walter"  (archi- 
poeta  Walterus),  who  seems  to  have  been  neither  an  English- 
man nor  a  Frenchman,  though  his  songs  were  applauded  in 
those  countries  no  less  than  in  Germany.  Like  the  glee- 
men,  the  jongkw's^  with  whom  they  often  mingled,  the 
vagantes  were  apparently  in  many  ways  intermediary  be- 
tween the  courtly  and  the  popular  poetry ;  their  hand  seems 
discernible  in  many  a  French  love  and  drinking-song,  in 
many  a  fabliau.  As  the  troubadours  had  their  sirventes  as 
well  as  their  ca^izone,  so  the  vagantes,  or  others  in  their  style, 
sang  of  serious  things,  of  historical  events,  as  well  as  of 
wine,  women,  and  dice.  But  they  loved  satire  most,  and 
they  directed  its  edge  against  the  clergy,  and  chiefly  against 
the  Roman  curia. 

A  poem  from  the  last  quarter  of  the  twelfth  century  gives 
a  glimpse  of  life  and  doings  at  Salerno  and  Paris,  and  es- 
pecially of  the  "  English  nation  "  at  the  university  of  the  lat- 
ter city ;  this  is  the  Speculum  stultorum  of  Nigellus,  which  is 
in  spirit  most  closely  related  to  the  songs  of  the  vagantes. 
The  poem  is  composed  in  distichs,  and  its  subject-matter 
is  the  marvellous  adventures  of  an  ambitious  ass  named 
Brunellus,  who  is  discontented  at  the  shortness  of  his  tail, 
and  strives  for  loftier  things.  He  is  meant  for  a  type  of 
monachism.  The  different  orders,  including  the  nuns,  are 
sharply  scrutinised,  and  found  utterly  worthless. 

X. 

We  now  pass  from  the  more  aristocratic  Latin  and  Ro- 
manic world  to  the  sphere  where  the  sound  of  the  English 
tongue  was  heard.  Its  literature  took  a  new  impetus  toward 
the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century.  At  the  same  time 
it  seems  to  have  unfolded  more  to  the  influence  of  foreign 
poetry,  though  but  in  a  limited  degree,  and  in  no  respect 
universally. 

The  venerable  form  of  La^amon  confronts  us  at  the  thresh- 
old of  the  century. 

La3amon,  son  of  Leovenath,  was  a  priest  of  Arley  Regis, 

1  It  is  also  known  by  the  name  Confessio  Goliae.  The  wandering  clerks  were  often 
called  Goliards,  which  is  perhaps  connected  with  the  Romanic  gaillard,  gagliardo. 
Prom  this  they  may  themselves,  in  mere  wantonness,  have  formed  the  name  Golias,  as 
a  personification  of  the  immoral  clergy. 


l88  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

in  Worcestershire,  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Severn.  His  was 
a  thoughtful  and  poetic  nature,  strongly  fascinated  by  the 
spirit  of  the  past,  though  he  lacked  a  more  profound  scien- 
tific culture.  He  knew  little  French  and  less  Latin,  and  had 
a  very  imperfect  knowledge  of  native  and  classical  history. 
Perhaps  he  drew  his  information  more  from  oral  tradition  than 
from  books.  He  certainly  preferred  writings  that  stirred 
the  fancy,  to  dry,  annalistic  works  and  learned  treatises. 
He  had  a  sensitive  ear  for  the  spirited  rhythm  of  the  nation- 
al songs.  He  had  hoarded  a  mass  of  sagas  and  local  tradi- 
tions. The  region  where  he  dwelt  must  have  been  rich  in 
reHcs  of  the  life  and  customs  of  the  past.  There  the  Dane 
had  never  gained  a  lasting  foothold ;  there  existed  no  great 
commercial  cities  to  open  trade  with  other  countries.  The 
Norman  Conquest  had  included  also  that  district,  it  is  true, 
and  Frenchmen  had  settled  there ;  nor  did  it  lack  many  links 
to  connect  it  with  Normandy.  Not  far  from  Arley,  a  little 
further  up  the  Severn,  was  the  birthplace  of  Ordericus  Vitalis. 
Little  time  had  yet  passed  since  conquerors  and  conquered 
had  regarded  each  other  with  a  hostile  eye.  At  that  period 
there  were,  perhaps,  few  men  in  Worcestershire  to  whom  the 
Norman-French  culture  had  been  revealed,  even  as  fully  as 
to  La^amon.  But  the  English  inhabitants  of  those  districts 
had  lived,  from  the  time  of  their  first  establishment  there  by 
force,  in  constant  proximity  and  intercourse  with  the  Welsh. 
An  interchange  of  intellectual  property  between  Celts  and 
Teutons  was  in  time  unavoidable  in  the  Welsh  marches. 
More  than  one  Celtic  saga  found  its  way  into  English  tradi- 
tion. After  the  rise  of  the  Arthurian  cult  and  the  tales  of 
the  British  kings  in  the  twelfth  century,  many  a  tradition  of 
Celtic  or  Germanic  origin  must  have  gained  importance  and 
new  adornment  in  the  Welsh  borders,  by  attaching  itself  to 
the  great  British  saga- cycle. 

In  such  a  mental  atmosphere  lived  La^amon,  when  the 
thought  came  to  him  of  writing  a  history  of  those  who  first 
had  possession  of  England  "  after  the  flood,"  or  as  a  Norman 
would,  perhaps,  even  then  have  called  it,  a  Bnit.  To  get 
the  books  needed  seems  to  have  cost  the  priest,  living  in 
rural  seclusion,  much  trouble  and  several  journeys.  He 
finally  succeeded  in  procuring  Aelfred's  Beda,  Beda's  origi- 
nal work,  and  Wace's  Gesie  des  Bretons.     The  first  two  were 


LAjAMOJJ.  189 

of  little  use  to  him.  He  evidently  studied  them  but  slightly. 
There  is  hardly  a  trace  in  La^amon  indicating  that  he  used 
Beda's  Ecclesiastical  History^  if  we  except  the  narrative  of 
Pope  Gregory's  meeting  with  Anglo-Saxon  prisoners  in 
Rome,  which  led  to  the  conversion  of  England.  He  does 
not  seem  to  have  discerned  the  relation  of  the  English  trans- 
lation to  the  original,  nor  the  authorship  of  either.  He  as- 
cribes the  English  text  to  Beda  himself,  and  he  evidently 
refers  to  the  Latin  original  when  he  speaks  of  a  book  which 
St.  Albin^  made  and  the  "  feire  Austin"  who  brought  bap- 
tism to  England.  Wace's  poem,  therefore,  alone  remains, 
and  this  formed  the  basis  of  La3amon's  work,  although  he 
used  a  number  of  other,  either  oral  or  written,  sources  for 
the  details  of  his  narrative. 

Wace  had  translated  the  highly  coloured,  somewhat  strain- 
ed prose  of  Geoffrey  into  the  French  short  couplet,  which 
was  growing  popular  in  his  time,  and  which  he  could  clev- 
erly wield.  The  adventure-crowded,  mystical  subject-mat- 
ter, pervaded  by  the  spirit  of  chivalry,  was  thus  treated  with 
an  unostentatious  naivete  that  better  became  it  than  the  im- 
passioned rhetoric  of  the  original.  The  Celtic  traditions 
were  invested  in  La^amon's  mind  with  all  the  splendour  and 
dignity  of  the  English  epic,  and  he  turned  to  the  old  national 
verse  as  a  natural  resource.  He  handles  this  form  as  he 
knew  it  from  the  folk-songs  he  had  heard  in  Worcestershire. 

The  alliteration  is  not  everywhere  rigidly  retained;  still 
less  is  rhyme  excluded ;  and  where  alliteration  predominates, 
the  verse  often  seems,  from  the  division  of  the  sentence,  to 
break  into  two  short  lines.  Thus  we  have  a  metre  which  ex- 
ternally does  not  deviate  much  from  that  of  the  Geste  des 
Bretons.  But  the  laws  of  Old  English  accent  and  rhythm 
are  everywhere  in  full  force ;  the  alliteration,  which  holds  a 
much  higher  place  than  rhyme,  transmits  an  abundance  of 
powerful  epic  chords.  The  diction,  dignified  in  its  simplic- 
ity, has  at  times  a  true  epic  strain.  Hence  we  breathe  here 
quite  a  different  atmosphere  from  that  in  which  the  Norman 
troiivere  existed.  La^amon's  language  adopts  but  few  for- 
eign elements,  in  spite  of  its  French  source,  and  it  is  replete 
with  ancient  forms,  expressions,  phrases,  which  often  give  us 

1  Albinus,  Abbot  of  Canterbury  (died  732),  is  extolled  by  Beda  for  his  learning  and 
the  rich  material  which  he  contributed  to  the  Ecclesiastical  History,  and  is  called 
auctor  ante  otitnes  atque  adjutor  huius  opnsculi. 


190  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

a  glimpse  into  the  background  of  English  antiquity.  All 
this  betokens  a  poet  who  did  not  simply  translate  his  authori- 
ty, but  worked  over  the  foreign  material  in  popular  wise, 
and  derived  the  form  for  it  from  his  own  intuitive  sense. 

If  Geoffrey's  tales  had  grown  in  volume  in  the  hands  of 
Wace,  the  English  poet  expands  them  to  colossal  dimen- 
sions. While  La^amon  skips  but  little  of  his  original,  he 
amplifies  and  adds  everywhere.  He  portrays  in  full  situa- 
tions to  which  Wace  merely  alludes.  He  transforms  the 
dry  statement  regarding  a  speech  or  a  discourse  into  a  dra- 
matic scene.  And  he  intersperses  many  quite  special  par- 
ticulars, names,  even  entire  tales,  in  which  he  often  not  only 
augments  the  material,  but  departs  from  his  author  and  con- 
tradicts him.  Some  of  La^amon's  interpolations  can  have 
been  derived  from  traditions  clinging  to  places  not  far  dis- 
tant from  the  poet's  home ;  as  the  tale  of  the  founding  of 
Gloucester,  and  the  story  of  the  capture  of  Cirencester  by 
Gormund,  which  he  gives  more  fully  than  Wace.  But  the 
scene  of  the  episodes  interwoven  by  La^amon  extends  over 
the  entire  British  isle,  and  beyond  it.  Many  of  these  addi- 
tions seem  to  be  derived  from  British  sources;  some  rest, 
beyond  doubt,  upon  English  tradition.  In  connecting  single 
tales  to  the  whole  work,  the  poet  frequently  commits  flagrant 
anachronisms ;  as  when  he  makes  the  cheorbs  of  East-Anglia, 
under  the  twin  brothers  Ethelbald  and  Aelfyftld,  rise  against 
Gratian  long  before  the  English  immigration.  Among  the 
various  amplifications,  those  relating  to  Arthur  are  conspicu- 
ous in  extent  and  importance.  They  show  bow  busy  the 
Celtic  and  English  fancy  in  the  west  of  Englnd  then  was 
in  this  sphere  of  tradition.  La^amon's  rendering  of  the 
Arthurian  saga  even  gives  echoes  of  the  Gerroanic  myth. 
Elves  appear  at  Arthur's  cradle  to  bestow  upon  him  beau- 
tiful gifts  for  his  future  life. 

As  soon  as  he  came  into  the  world,  elves  received  him.  They  sang 
over  him  with  strong  spell.  They  gave  him  power  to  be  the  best  of 
all  knights;  they  gave  him  a  second  gift:  to  become  a  mighty  king; 
they  gave  him  a  third :  to  have  long  life;  they  gave  the  king's  son 
very  excellent  virtues,  so  that  he  was  generous  above  all  living  men. 
These  things  the  elves  gave  him,  and  the  child  flourished.' 

When  Arthur  equips  himself  for  the  attack  on  Bath,  he 
puts  on  the  corslet  which  an  elfish  smith,  called  Wygar,  the 

*  Lajamon's  Brut,  ed.  Sir  F.  Madden,  ii.  384,  et  seq. 


LA3AM0N's  BRUt.  t^t 

skilful  wright/  has  made  with  his  precious  art.  Thus  dim 
traditions  from  the  national  pre-historic  age  are  made  to 
serve  for  the  glorification  of  the  national  enemy.  In  many- 
places  Teutonic  and  Celtic  sagas  touch  or  blend.  Who 
could  draw  a  distinct  line  between  these  two  elements  ? 
And  though  it  matured  in  Wales,  is  not  the  Arthurian  saga, 
as  a  whole,  an  international  product  ? 

La^amon  gives  a  pleasing  account  of  the  origin  of  the 
Round  Table,  whose  name  first  appears  in  Wace ;  this  ac- 
count, it  would  seem,  is  a  truly  popular  one,  and  was  per- 
haps unknown  to  the  early  stages  of  the  Arthurian  tradition. 

The  narrative  of  Arthur's  last  days  is  very  poetical :  as 
his  dream  ^  telling  him  of  the  treachery  of  Modred  and 
Wenhever  (Genevra),  when  he  is  in  the  field  in  Gaul  and  is 
thinking  of  the  conquest  of  Rome ;  his  return  ;  his  conflict 
with  Modred ;  and  his  death.  The  two  last-named  passages 
deserve  to  be  quoted : 

They  met  on  the  Tambre,'  the  place  is  called  Camelford,  that  name 
will  last  forever.  And  there  were  collected  at  Camelford  sixty  thou- 
sand and  over :  Modred  was  their  chieftain.  Then  the  mighty  Arthur 
rode  forth  with  an  innumerable  host,  which  was,  indeed,  doomed  to 
death.  On  the  Tambre  they  met  each  other.  They  raised  their  ban- 
ners, moved  toward  each  other,  they  drew  their  long  swords,  and  smote 
upon  the  helmets,  so  that  fire  sprang  forth,  spears  were  shivered, 
shields  were  cut  in  little  pieces,  shafts  were  shattered.  There  fought 
an  innumerable  host.  The  Tambre  swelled  with  the  vast  blood-stream. 
No  one  was  able,  in  the  struggle,  to  recognise  any  warrior,  or  to  see 
who  fought  better,  who  worse :  so  thick  was  the  throng.  For  each 
struck  right  out,  knight  or  bondman.  Then  Modred  was  slain,  bereft 
of  the  light  of  life,  and  all  his  knights  were  felled  in  the  battle.  All 
the  brave  ones  were  slain,  Arthur's  warriors,  high  and  low,  and  ail 
the  Britons  from  Arthur's  table,  and  all  his  wards,  from  many  king- 
doms. And  Arthur  himself  was  wounded  by  a  broad  battle-spear ; 
he  had  received  fifteen  bloody  wounds  ;  into  the  smallest  one  might 
thrust  two  gloves.  Then  there  survived  in  the  battle,  of  200,000  men 
who  lay  there  slaughtered,  none  save  Arthur  alone  and  two  of  his 
knights.  Arthur  was  incredibly  wounded.  Then  a  youth  stepped  to 
him,  his  kinsman.  It  was  the  son  of  Cador,  the  count  of  Cornwall. 
The  youth's  name  was  Constantine,  he  was  dear  to  the  king.  Arthur 
glanced  at  him  as  he  lay  upon  the  ground,  and  spoke  these  words 
fi-om  a  sorrowful  heart:  "Thou  art  welcome,  Constantine,  thou  wert 
Cador's  son.  I  here  deliver  to  thee  my  kingdoms,  and  guard  thou  my 
Britons,  thy  life  long,  and  keep  to  them  all  laws,  which  have  been  in 

1  Lajamon's  B-ntt,  ii.  463,  et  seq. 

2  Wace  and  Geoffrey  know  as  little  of  this  dream  of  Arthur  as  of  the  manner  of  his 
transfer  to  Avalun. 

*  Better  Camel ;  earlier  Camlan. 


192  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

force  in  my  days,  and  all  the  good  laws  in  force  in  the  days  of  Uther. 
And  I  will  go  to  Avalun,  to  the  most  beauteous  of  all  maidens,  to  the 
queen  Argante,  the  splendid  elf.  And  she  will  heal  all  my  wounds, 
and  make  me  yet  quite  well  with  a  healing  drink.  And  afterwards  I 
will  come  again  to  my  kingdom,  and  dwell  among  the  Britons  in  great 
bliss."  While  he  was  saying  this,  a  little  boat  came  from  the  sea, 
borne  by  the  waves,  with  two  women  therein  of  marvellous  figure. 
And  they  at  once  took  Arthur  and  brought  him  to  the  boat,  laid  him 
in  it,  and  sailed  away.  Then  was  fulfilled  what  Merlin  said  of  yore, 
that  there  should  be  mighty  grief  at  Arthur's  demise.  The  Britons 
still  believe  that  he  is  alive,  and  dwells  in  Avalun,  with  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  all  elves,  and  the  Britons  still  watch  for  his  return.  Never 
was  the  man  born  or  chosen  by  a  woman  who  could  with  truth  say 
more  of  Arthur.  But  of  yore  there  was  a  prophet  named  Merlin.  He 
announced  with  words — his  sayings  were  true — that  an  Arthur  should 
yet  come  to  the  help  of  the  Britons. l 

Thus  La3amon's  writing  far  surpasses  that  of  his  author. 
Of  all  English  poets  after  the  Conquest,  none  approached 
the  Old  English  epos  so  closely  as  he,  and  hardly  any  met- 
rical chronicle  of  the  Middle  Ages  can  rival  La^amon's 
Brut  in  poetical  worth.  The  merits  of  his  style  appear 
most  brilliantly  in  the  portrayal  of  battle  and  strife,  and  of 
the  combat  with  the  surging  sea.  Tliough  his  diction  has 
none  of  the  copiousness  of  the  ancient  epic  language,  yet  in 
comparison  with  later  times,  it  must  be  termed  rich,  and 
most  graphic  and  effective.  It  is  highly  imaginative,  but 
contains  few  detailed  similes.  The  very  picturesquely  and 
delicately  executed  simile  drawn  from  the  fox-hunt  is  so  ap- 
plied that  neither  design  nor  pretension  on  the  part  of  the 
poet  appears.  He  puts  it  in  the  mouth  of  his  hero,  Arthur, 
who,  rejoicing  at  the  subjection  of  his  enemy,  the  emperor 
Childric,  exclaims  with  a  loud  voice : 

Thanks  be  to  the  Lord  who  rules  all  dooms,  that  Childric  the 
strong,  is  weary  of  my  land.  He  has  divided  my  land  among  his 
knights,  he  thought  to  drive  me  myself  from  my  people,  to  humiliate 
me,  and  possess  my  empire,  and  utterly  to  destroy  my  kindred,  and  to 
put  my  people  to  death.  But  it  has  gone  with  him  as  it  goes  with  the 
fox.  When  he  is  boldest  upon  the  wold,  and  has  full  play  and  fowls 
enough,  he  climbs  in  wantonness,  and  seeks  rocks,  works  himself 
holes  in  the  wilderness.  Whatever  may  fare,  he  knows  never  a  care. 
He  thinks  that  he  is  strong,  the  boldest  of  all  animals.  But  when  he 
sees  men  approach  under  the  mountain  with  horns,  with  dogs,  with 
loud  cries,  then  the  hunters  shout,  then  the  dogs  yelp,  they  drive  the 
fox  over  downs  and  dales.  He  flees  to  the  holm  and  seeks  his  den ;  in 
the  farthest  end  of  his  den,  he  hides  himself      Then  is  the  bold  fox 

*  Lajamon's  Brut,  iii.  140,  et  seq. 


I'ERIOD  OF  ORM.  193 

bcr-o-ft  of  all  joy,  and  men  dig  for  him  on  each  side.  Then  is  the 
proudest  of  all  animals  most  wretched.  So  it  was  with  Childric,  the 
strong  and  powerful.  He  thought  to  get  all'  my  kingdom  into  his  own 
hands,  but  now  I  have  driven  him  to  bare  death,  whether  I  choose  to 
slay  or  hang  him.i, 

A  most  significant  figure,  La3amon  stands  upon  the  divid- 
ing line  between  two  great  periods,  which  he  unites  in  a 
singular  manner.  He  once  more  reproduces  for  us  an  age 
that  is  forever  past.  At  the  same  time  he  is  the  first  Eng- 
lish poet  to  draw  from  French  sources,  the  first  to  sing  of 
King  Arthur  in  English  verse. 

XI. 

Some  time  elapsed  before  La^amon's  example  found  imi- 
tation. Traces  are  not  lacking,  it  is  true,  which  denote  that 
sagas  like  those  of  Charlemagne  and  the  twelve  peers  were 
carried,  in  the  first  third  of  the  thirteenth  century,  from  the 
hall  of  the  Norman  baron  to  the  servants'  rooms,  and  thence 
to  the  neighbouring  village ;  but  it  is  very  doubtful  whether 
literature  had  anything  to  do  with  such  transference  of  intel- 
lectual possessions.  Of  pieces  sung  or  recited  at  that  time  by- 
English  harpers  and  singers,  seggers  or  disours,  there  remains 
to  us  but  little ;  and  indeed  nothing  in  the  original  form. 
We  do  not  know  what  their  attitude  was  toward  their  gentler 
Norman  colleagues.  Their  service  as  mediators  between 
two  heterogeneous  spheres  of  thought  and  material  is,  for 
that  epoch,  almost  entirely  beyond  the  reach  of  our  judg- 
ment. In  the  field  of  literature  the  task  of  mediation  fell, 
in  the  first  place,  to  the  ecclesiastics ;  and  the  literary  ac- 
tivity of  the  clergy,  if  not  its  concern,  was  for  a  long  time 
confined  to  theological  and  didactic  subjects.  But  soon  af- 
ter the  appearance  of  La^amon,  a  tranquil  yet  powerful  in- 
fluence of  the  new  culture-ferment,  coming  chiefly  from 
France,  began  to  assert  itself  in  these  fields. 

But  for  some  time  this  influence  was  especially  perceptible 
only  in  the  south  of  England.  The  districts,  which  we  will 
caU  Anglian,  after  the  old  tribal  name,  were,  during  a  half 
century,  but  slightly  pervaded  by  it.  We  will  glance  first  at 
these. 

In  the  northeastern  part  of  the  former  kingdom  of  Mercia 

*  Lajamon's  Bj^tt,  ii.  450,  et  seq. 

N 


194  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

there  lived  in  the  first  quarter  of  the  thirteenth  century^ 
a  monk  named  Orai,  inmate  of  an  Augustine  monastery. 
The  spot  lay  wholly  within  the  territory  of  the  Danish  inva- 
sions and  settlements ;  and  it  is  quite  possible  that  Orm  him- 
self, whose  name  has  no  English  ring,  was  of  Danish  descent 
on  his  father's  side.  The  blending  of  races  in  that  region 
had  clearly  left  its  mark  on  the  language.  Norse  expres- 
sions had  come  into  it.  Prefixes  and  end-syllables  were  in 
great  part  weakened  or  dropped ;  many  distinctions  of  inflec- 
tion had  been  obliterated.  Of  French  elements,  this  lan- 
guage as  yet  had  none.  French  literature  and  culture  had 
probably  gained  no  foothold  in  this  region  Into  the  loneli- 
ness of  the  cloister  where  Orm  dwelt  their  influence  had  cer- 
tainly not  yet  penetrated.  There  seems  to  have  been  but 
little  knowledge  of  the  ecclesiastical  writers  of  the  new  era, 
men  like  Anselm,  Abelard,  Bernard,  the  celebrities  of  St. 
Victor,  or  like  Honorius  Augustodunensis.  Orm's  theological 
tradition  went  back  to  Aelfric  and  his  school.  He  seems  quite 
at  home  in  Aelfric's  writings,  as  well  as  in  those  of  Beda  and 
Augustine.  Dear  to  him  as  to  Aelfric  was  the  fostering  of 
the  mother-tongue,  and  the  work  of  teaching  the  ignorant 
masses.  We  recognise  in  these  qualities  the  man  who  was 
fitted  to  undertake  a  great  and  important  work  for  the  Eng- 
lish people.  Another  Augustine  monk  named  Walter — 
Orm  designates  him  as  threefold  his  brother :  in  the  flesh,  in 
the  faith,  and  in  the  order — urged  him  to  translate  and  ex- 
plain the  gospels  for  the  ecclesiastical  year.  Orm  yielded 
and  gave  all  his  industry  to  the  work.  In  accordance  with 
the  spirit  of  the  time,  he  chose  the  poetical  form  for  his  ex- 
position. But  the  vibrant  rhythm  of  the  alliterative  verse 
could  little  suit  his  severe  taste.  Hence  he  decided  upon 
the  iambic  septe7iarius  ;  thus  following  the  example  of  the 
author  of  the  Poema  morale^  a  poem  of  which  many  copies 
had  been  circulated  over  England,  and  which  called  forth 
many  imitations.  Unlike  his  predecessor,  Orm  reproduced 
the  foreign  metre  with  pains-taking  accuracy.  The  up-beat 
(Auftakt,  atiacrusis)  never  fails ;  the  line  always  numbers 
fifteen  syllables.  Violence  is  not  seldom  done  to  the  English 
accent  to  suit  the  demands  of  metre.  For  convenience  or 
from  purism,  Orm  disdains  rhyme  as  well  as  alliteration. 

•  Time  and  especially  place  are  not  absolutely  certain;  but  the  statement  in  the  text 
cannot  be  very  far  from  the  truth. 


tttE  ORMULUM.  195 

The  work  proceeds  in  this  smooth  and  regular  form  with- 
out poetical  exaltation,  and  is  unadorned  and  simple,  some- 
what stiff,  but  on  the  whole,  clear  and  intelligible.  In  ordei 
"  to  fill  out  his  verse,"  ^  Orm  adds,  even  in  his  translation,  many 
a  word  not  in  the  original.  And  he  believes  he  has  made  the 
text  more  intelligible  to  the  reader  by  his  additions.^  The 
diffuse  paraphrase  (for  so  it  must  be  called)  is  followed,  in 
each  case,  by  a  still  more  diffuse  commentary  on  the  text  of 
the  gospel  treated.  As  in  his  originals,  upon  which  he  is 
wholly  dependent,  the  allegorico-mystical  interpretation  pre- 
dominates, with  its  depth,  its  subtlety,  and  its  childish  play- 
ing with  words.  More  pedantic,  less  poetical  than  Aelfric, 
Orm  is  often  not  so  fortunate  in  selection  as  he,  and  what  is 
offered  gains  nothing  by  the  form  in  which  he  clothes  it. 
But  the  melody  of  the  verse  has  a  certain  charm ;  at  times 
the  accord  of  form  and  matter  yields  a  happy  finish.  His 
clear  language  sometimes  becomes  impressive.  The  good- 
ness and  the  loving  nature  of  the  writer  are  often  touchingly 
disclosed.  But  the  homilist  uses  far  too  many  words  to  say 
what  he  has  in  mind;  and  while  he  is  both  bold  enough 
to  form  complex  sentences,  and  too  conscientious  to  be 
silent  upon  a  single  point,  or  to  leave  it  in  a  charitable 
half-light,  like  a  bad  orator,  he  resorts  every  moment  to 
repetition.  He  repeats  himself  in  words,  sentences,  and 
lines;  sometimes  in  entire  groups  of  sentences  and  Hnes, 
possibly  to  gain  a  kind  of  musical  effect.  Orm's  strength 
lies  where  his  weakness  also  appears,  in  his  sense  of  com- 
pleteness, distinctness,  purity,  correctness.  These  qualities 
manifest  themselves  most  strikingly  in  his  spelling,  which, 
from  a  consistency  and  precision  remarkable  for  the  time, 
offends  the  eye  as  much  as  it  must  rejoice  the  heart  of  the 
grammarian. 

Orm  looked  back  upon  the  finished  work  with  satisfac- 
tion. This  is  perceptible  throughout  the  dedication  to  his 
brother  Walter ;  and  not  less  in  the  line  with  which  he  be- 
gins his  introduction : 

f*is5  boc  is  nemmnedd  Orrmulum  forrj)!  l)att  Orrm  itt  wrohhte. 
This  book  is  named  Ormulum  for  that  Orm  it  wrought. 

The  Ormulum  has  come  down  to  us  a  torso ;  perhaps  only 
one-eighth  of  the  complete  collection  of  homilies  remains. 

*  Dedication,  v.  44,  64. 
2  Ibid.f  V.  45.  et  seq. 


196  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

But  this  eighth  consists  of  over  ten  thousand  lines — an  Im- 
posing monument  of  persistent,  pious  industry,  a  rich  fund 
of  instruction  for  the  Unguist. 

A  poem  for  which  no  author  is  named  appeared  upon 
Anghan  territory  two  or  three  decades  after  the  Or??iulum. 
Romanic  elements  are  not  entirely  lacking  in  the  language 
of  this  production,  but  they  are  so  few  as  to  be  scarcely  no- 
ticeable. 

The  poem  is  an  English  Physiologus^  and  is  known  by  the  • 
name  of  the  Bestiary. 

The  Latin  original,  formerly  ascribed  to  Hildebert  de 
Tours,  is  the  work  of  a  certain  Tebaldus,  according  to  some 
manuscripts,  an  Italian.^-  It  contains  twelve  sections  in  va- 
rying metres,  and  with  frequent  rhymes.  The  first  section 
purposely  treats  of  the  lion,  the  symbol  of  Christ ;  and  in 
the  poet's  estimation,  it  is  the  pith  of  the  whole,^  for  he  says 
the  poem  is  written  to  the  praise  and  honour  of  Christ.^  The 
panther,  considered  in  the  last-  section,  likewise  denotes 
Christ.  The  style  is  generally  dry ;  the  poet  plainly  aims 
at  elegance,  but  is  rarely  successful. 

The  English  poet,  in  the  main,  faithfully  followed  this 
model.  The  contents  and  arrangement  of  the  single  sec- 
tions agree,  save  a  few  trifling  discrepancies.  He  adds,  how- 
ever, a  thirteenth  section,  in  which  he  describes  and  inter- 
prets the  dove,  according  to  a  tradition  then  widely  circulated. 
The  subject-matter  in  Alexander  Neckam's  De  7iatuns  re- 
rum  (I.  56)  differs  but  little  from  it.  The  English  poet  rare- 
ly changes  Tebaldus  in  details.  He  suppresses  but  little, 
and  adds  scarcely  a  noteworthy  feature.^  But  he  evidently 
endeavours  to  make  details  more  picturesque  and  graphic. 
His  style  is  much  less  forced  than  that  of  his  original,  and 
though  often  exceedingly  naive,  it  has  some  poetic  charm. 
The  metrical  fo'm  fluctuates  between  ancient  and  modern 
principles.  It  is  founded  upon  a  short  Hne,  having,  as  a 
rule,  four  accents  with  a  soundless,  or  three  accents  with  a 
sonorous  close,''  four  accents  also  occurring  in  the  latter  case. 
Two  short  lines  are  sometimes  united  by  alliteration,  some- 

•  See  the  opening. 

'  Compare  v.  2,  3 1 7,  et  seq. 

'  v.  610  et  seq.  is  perhaps  an  exception. 

*  The  soundless  close  is  either  a  masculine  ending  or  a  feminine  ending  with  a  short 
accented  syllable;  the  sonorous  close  is  a  double  ending  in  which  the  accented  sylla 
ble  is  long. 


VERSION  OF  GENESIS.  I97 

times  by  rhyme;  besides  couplets,  there  are  quatiains  with 
crossed  rhyme.  These  forms  follow  each  other  in  quick 
succession,  yet  long  passages  and  entire  sections  some- 
times differ  in  metre.  As  we  seem  to  discern  short  or  long 
lines  constructed  after  different  laws,  we  are  now  reminded 
of  the  Poema  morale,  now  of  the  Paternoster,  and  often  of 
the  ancient  epic  verse.  It  is  perhaps  significant  that  alliter- 
ation prevails  in  the  descriptive  parts,  and  rhyme  in  the  in- 
terpretative, cross-rhyme  appearing  especially  in  the  latter. 

Romanic  influence  is  much  more  evident  in  a  poetical 
version  of  Genesis  than  in  the  Bestiary;  a  version  that  origi- 
nated in  the  same  district,  and  certainly  not  much  later  than 
that  poem.  The  short  couplet  is  regularly  handled  on  a 
new  principle,  and  with  great  precision  and  dexterity,  in  a 
manner  closely  approaching  the  syllabic  character  of  the 
corresponding  French  form.  The  style  also  unmistakably 
shows  that  the  poet  was  at  least  not  unfamiliar  with  the 
Norman  clerical  poetry.  His  chief  source  was  a  Latin  one, 
but  it  belonged  emphatically  to  the  theology  of  the  new 
era.  He  used,  besides  the  Bible  (we  may  almost  say  before 
it),  the  Historia  scholastica  of  the  learned  French  priest 
Petrus  Comestor,  which  dates  from  between  the  years  11 69 
and  1 175.  This  work  compendiously  discusses  the  biblical 
history,  from  the  creation  of  the  empyreum  to  the  death 
of  the  apostles  Peter  and  Paul,  and  it  became  the  ground- 
work of  nearly  all  later  mediseval  Bible  commentaries. 
There  is  a  tradition  that  indicates  Comestor's  place  in  theo- 
logical literature ;  it  makes  him  the  brother  of  the  author 
of  the  Sentences,  Petrus  Lombardus,  and  of  the  great  canon- 
ist Gratian.  The  English  poet  throughout  founds  his  work 
upon  the  Historia  scholastica;  or  upon  the  section  relating 
to  the  book  of  Genesis.  And  he  follows  it  even  when  he 
cites  more  ancient  authorities,  as  Josephus,  who  is  often 
utilised  and  quoted  by  Petrus.  In  the  first  division  of  tne 
poem,  however,  he  seems,  if  only  in  passing,  to  have  drawn 
from  other  sources ;  the  Compiit  of  Philipe  de  Thaun  was 
perhaps  among  them.  /  His  chief  merit  lies  in  the  skill  with 
which  he  selected  from  Comestor's  copious  material  what 
was  useful  and  suitable  for  his  readers,  as  well  as  in  the  liv- 
ery he  gave  it.  His  style  is  simple,  somewhat  severe,  but 
not  without  life,  and  not  unpleasing ;  it  often  calls  to  mind 


1 98  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

the  manner  of  Wace.  Its  customary  clearness  rarely  suffers 
ia  the  effort  to  attain  succinct  brevity;  this  effort  is  some- 
times suggestive  of  prudery.  Now  and  then  the  poet's 
religious  enthusiasm  communicates  a  poetical  glow  to  his 
verse.  In  such  cases  we  understand  why  he  calls  his  poem 
a  "  song,"  which  term  is  perhaps  not  to  be  taken  literally. 
It  could  indeed  be  sung,  though  necessarily  in  unequal  stro- 
phes. Whether  the  fact  that  the  same  rhyme  sometimes 
appears  in  a  succession  of  verse-pairs  points  in  that  direction 
or  not,  must  remain  undecided. 

The  Genesis  seems,  soon  after  its  appearance,  to  have  in- 
spired another  poet  to  write  an  Exodus  in  a  similar  vein. 
This  other  poet  was  presumably  a  fellow-monk  or  the  suc- 
cessor in  some  ecclesiastical  office  of  the  author  of  the 
Gefiesis;  indeed,  the  possibility  that  they  are  identical  ^  is 
not  to  be  utterly  rejected,  though  this  is  not  probable.  The 
language  of  the  Exodus  poet  differs  from  that  of  his  prede- 
cessor only  in  delicate  nuances.  He  conforms  to  the  latter 
in  versification  and  style,  and  successfully  imitates  him 
although  he  does  not  profess  to  write  a  "  song."  With  still 
less  claim  to  learning  than  his  model,  he  makes  use  of  the 
same  original,  whose  sense,  moreover,  he  sometimes  fails 
accurately  to  reproduce.  He  was  obliged  to  select  from  the 
material  before  him  to  a  far  greater  extent  than  the  poet  of 
the  Genesis.  Inasmuch  as  he  carried  the  history  of  the 
Israelites  to  the  death  of  Moses,  he  not  only  had  to  use  the 
Historia  scholastica  in  the  part  on  Exodus,  but  he  was 
obliged  to  draw  historical  material  from  Numbers  and  Deu- 
teronomy. He  wisely  passed  over  Leviticus,  as  also  the 
detailed  ritualistic  parts  of  Exodus. 

Taken  as  a  whole,  the  Ge?iesis  and  Exodus  are  a  monu- 
ment of  no  mean  interest  to  literary  history.  This  is  the  first 
attempt,  after  a  long  interval,  to  bring  the  ancient  epochs  of 
bibhcal  history  more  directly  before  the  English  people ;  and 
it  is  one  of  the  oldest  English  poems  in  which  the  verse  and 
style  of  the  French  clerical  poetry  were  successfully  imitated. 

The  circulation  of  the  poem  does  not  seem  to  have  been 
so  great  as  might  have  been  expected. 

1  This  theory  has  hitherto  been  accepted  •without  question.  The  Exodus  immedi- 
ately follows  the  Genesis  in  the  MS.  of  the  Corpus  Christi  College  of  Cambridge, 
though  the  latter  does  not  lack  a  distinct  closing  passus;  and  both  poems  have  beer 
edited  as  one  work  by  Richard  Morris  for  the  Early  English  Text  Society:  Th< 
Story  0/  Genesis  and  Froius,  1865 ;  2d  ed.,  1874 


LIVES  OF  THE  SAINTS.  1 99 

XII. 

The  development  at  this  time  in  the  literature  of  the  South 
was  unquestionably  more  momentous  than  that  just  consid- 
ered. A  series  of  phenomena,  of  themes  and  forms,  suc- 
ceeded in  the  space  of  a  half-century.  To  a  stronger  echo 
of  English  antiquity  responded  the  tones  of  a  new  age  and 
culture. 

The  lives  of  three  saints  first  attract  our  attention,  of  seinte 
Marherete^  seinte  Juliane,  and  seinfe  Katerine.  Written  in 
alHterative  long  liAes,  or  in  rythmical,  alliterative  prose,  their 
diction,  with  its  touch  of  enthusiasm,  contains  much  that 
recalls  the  good  old  times  of  poetry.  Their  language,  as 
compared  with  Orm's,  has  wealth  and  colour.  Yet  occasional 
French  expressions,  as  well  as  the  choice  of  materials,  remind 
us  that  we  are  in  the  thirteenth  century.  It  is  true  that  these 
three  saints,  with  innumerable  others,  had  been  celebrated 
in  English  speech  before  the  Conquest.  Cynewulf  himself 
had  sung  St.  Juliana  in  impassioned  rhythms.  But  it  is 
scarcely  fortuitous  that  three  female  saints  should  now  appear 
together,  in  whose  legends  is  varied  the  power  of  faith  and 
the  might  of  virginity  in  conflict  with  the  powers  of  hell  and 
of  this  world.  The  ideal  of  virgin  purity  was  in  the  fore- 
ground of  the  moral  consciousness  of  the  age,  and  it  gained 
in  influence,  as  immorality  became  more  gigantic  in  conse- 
quence of  the  crusades,  of  unsettled  life,  and  of  contact  with 
eastern  nations.  The  alliterative  homily  on  the  text,  Audi 
filia  et  vide  et  indina  aiirem  tuajfi,  is  closely  related,  in  time 
and  place  of  origin,  to  these  three  legends.  In  literary  his- 
tory it  is  known  by  the  name  Ilali  Meidenhad,  Holy  Maid- 
enhood. Neither  moralists  nor  rehgious  poets  wearied  in 
the  praise  of  this  crown  of  all  virtues;  directions  on  the 
surest  way  of  guarding  it  form  one  of  the  most  important 
chapters  of  practical  theology.  Divine  love  was  contrasted 
with  sensual  desire  and  impure  love.  The  ancient  theme 
of  Christ  as  bridegroom  wooing  the  soul,  of  the  soul  pining 
for  the  love  of  the  heavenly  bridegroom,  was  treated  with 
much  variety  and  rich  poetical  cast.  The  cult  of  the  Virgin 
Mary  was  most  closely  connected  with  this ;  the  virgin 
mother  of  God,  whose  beauty  fills  the  solitary  penitent  and 
the  pious  hermit  with  longing,  and  which  St.  Bernard  so 


200  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

highly  extolled,  was  venerated  in  England  from  the  begin- 
ning of  the  thirteenth  century,  with  an  enthusiasm  beside 
which  the  love  and  admiration  of  the  Old  English  church 
for  her  seems  cold.  A  sort  of  womanly  tone  pervaded  the 
writings  in  this  sphere  of  thought.  Thus,  divine  love  ("  die 
Gottesnwi7ie  "),  in  the  mediaeval  sense,  became  a  new  theme 
in  English  literature,  before  secular  love-poetry,  as  it  had 
"  sprung  up  in  the  valleys  of  Provence  "  ^  more  than  a  hun- 
dred years  before,  could  take  root  there.  The  impulse  pro- 
ceeding from  France,  which  then  had  spread  over  Germany 
and  was  beginning  to  make  itself  felt  in  Italy,  in  English- 
speaking  England,  first  affected  the  rehgious  literature.^ 

From  this  came  a  new  rise  of  prose,  and  the  growth  of  a 
new  lyrical  poetry. 

The  most  notable  prose  monument  of  the  time  is  the  first 
after  a  long  interval  that  may  be  compared  with  the  products 
of  former  centuries.  Characteristically  enough,  it  is  an 
ascetic  rule  written  for  three  young  nuns  by  a  highly  edu- 
cated and  respected  ecclesiastic.  Three  sisters  of  noble 
blood,  universally  loved  for  their  kindness  and  magnanimity, 
had  renounced^  the  world  in  the  bloom  of  their  years  and 
withdrawn  to  the  solitude  of  a  cloister,  where  they  dwelt  as 
the  only  inmates,  with  their  women-servants  and  some  at- 
tending lay-brothers.  Our  author  seems  to  have  stood  near 
them  as  spiritual  adviser,  though  probably  not  as  actual  pas- 
tor. Upon  their  urgent  and  repeated  request,  he  wrote  for 
them  his  Regulae  inclusarum  or  Ancre?i  Riwle  (Anchoresses' 
Rule).  This  work  betokens  much  learning,  great  knowledge 
of  the  human  heart,  as  well  as  deep  piety,  and  a  refined  and 
gentle  spirit.  Within  the  scope  of  a  sharply  limited  view 
of  life,  it  shows  breadth  of  mind  and  freedom  of  thought. 

"  There  are  many  kinds  of  rules,"  says  the  author  in  the 
introduction,  "  but  among  them  are  two  of  which,  with 
God's  help,  I  will  speak  in  accordance  with  your  request. 
The  one  rules  the  heart,  makes  it  even  and  smooth  .... 
this  rule  is  ever  with  you  ....  it  is  the  Caritas  which 
the  apostle  describes,  '  out  of  a  pure  heart,  and  of  a  good 

1  In  den  Thalen  der  Provence 
1st  der  Minnesang  entsprossen. 

— Uhland,  Rudello. 
'  We  otserve  the  same  phenomenon  elsewhere,  and  in  other  epochs. 
•  A  ticren  Riwle,  p.  192. 


THE  ANCREN  RIWLE.  24 

conscience,  and  of  faith  unfeigned.'  ....  the  other  rule  iii 
all  outward  and  rules  the  body  and  bodily  acts  ....  the 
other  is  as  a  lady,  this  is  as  her  handmaid ;  for  whatever 
men  do  of  the  other  outwardly  is  only  to  rule  the  heart 
within."  ^  The  inner  rule  is  unchangeable ;  to  observe  it,  a 
duty.  The  outer  has  to  do  with  persons  and  circumstances ; 
the  sisters  may  follow,  in  this  regard,  what  the  author  imposes 
upon  them,  but  they  are  to  take  no  vow  to  keep  his  direc- 
tions as  commandments  (of  God).  The  writer  devotes  to 
the  external  rule  only  the  first  and  the  last  of  the  eight 
books  of  his  work  ;  the  former  treats  of  "  service  "  [seruise), 
or  of  the  prayers  to  be  offered  daily,  ceremonies,  and  the 
like ;  the  latter,  of  the  ordering  of  the  outward  life.  The  re- 
maining books  all  consider  the  inner  rule.  The  five  senses 
are  first  taken  up,  "  which  guard  the  heart  like  watchmen, 
when  they  are  true  •" :  a  theme  that  frequently  recurs  in  ec- 
clesiastical literature,  and  often  worked  out  in  broad  allegory. 
The  anchorite's  life  is  next  presented ;  the  virtues  it  requires, 
the  contentment  it  yields,  are  depicted,  and  the  grounds  are 
stated  that  admonish  us  to  renounce  the  world.  The  fourth 
book  considers  fleshly  and  spiritual  temptations;  the  fifth, 
confession,  and  the  sixth,  penance.  This  serves  as  a  prepara- 
tion for  the  central  part  of  the  work,  whose  topic  is  purity 
of  heart,  and  love  of  Christ. 

The  method  is  sometimes  systematic,  sometimes  free.  As 
a  whole,  the  work  evinces  the  effect  of  a  learning  given  to 
subtle  distinctions.  And  with  it  is  that  feeling  for  alle- 
gory and  parable  which,  awakened  by  the  Scriptures  and  the 
fathers  of  the  church,  developed  most  richly  under  the  most 
various  influences  in  the  later  Middle  Ages,  and  which  a 
strongly  expanding  mysticism  moulded  to  its  purposes. 
Neither  does  the  work  lack  popular  features,  touches  full  of 
human  life.  Many  legends  are  related  or  called  to  mind ; 
names  and  examples  from  the  Old  and  New  Testaments, 
from  the  different  centuries  of  the  Christian  church,  contin- 
ually occur,  and  the  author  sometimes  glances  at  profane 
history.  Everywhere  are  images,  illustrations.  We  cannot 
fail  to  recognise  the  workings  of  the  new  schools  of  preach- 
ers, though  the  author  neither  resorts  to  the  most  common 
topics  of  daily  life  nor  interweaves  any  true  fables  into  his 

•  A  ncren  Riwle,  p.  2,  4. 


202  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

work.  The  text  is  interlarded  with  Latin  quotations,  which 
are  often  left  untranslated.  Besides  the  Scriptures,  from 
which  he  chiefly  draws,  he  also  cites  Jerome,  Augustine, 
Gregory,  Anselm,  and,  notably,  Bernard.  The  chapter  on 
penance  confessedly  follows  most  closely  the  teachings  of 
the  great  church  father  of  the  twelfth  century.  Thus  the 
theology  of  the  new  era  here  has  a  decided  effect.  The 
author  was,  without  question,  acted  upon  by  French  culture 
in  the  broader  sense.  He  very  often  resorts  to  French  ex- 
pressions ;  and  as  he  distinctly  presupposes  a  knowledge  of 
this  language  in  his  nuns,  he  had  perhaps  himself  read  many 
a  French  book,  and  frequently  spoken  the  language  in  polite 
circles.  He  has,  nevertheless,  a  good  English  construction. 
His  style  is  simple  and  dignified,  and  unites  grace  and 
graphic  picturesqueness  with  the  free  movement  of  that 
period.  The  reader  must  not  look  for  a  strictly  logical 
structure  of  sentences,  nor  an  artistic  grouping  of  periods. 
The  particles  have  not  yet  acquired  the  power  sharply  to  de- 
fine and  give  the  delicate  shadings  of  highly  cultivated 
speech;  the  mysteries  of  word-arrangement  are,  in  great 
part,  still  unsolved.  Naive  and  spontaneous,  as  it  seems, 
we  are  charmed  by  this  language,  which  already  contains  so 
much  art,  and  has  so  rich  a  history  behind  it;  hence  it 
strikes  us  as  graceful,  despite  its  clumsiness. 

The  passage  on  comfort  in  temptations  affords  a  good 
specimen : 

Pe  sixte  kunfort  is,  )pet  ure  Louerd,  hwon  he  iöoleö  Jjet  we  beo5 
itented,  he  plaieö  mid  us,  ase  ^e  moder  mid  hire  junge  deorlinge: 
vlihö  from  him,  and  hut  hire,  and  let  hit  silten  one,  and  loken  jeorne 
abuten,  and  cleopien,  Dame !  dame !  and  weopen  one  hwule ;  and 
J)eonne  mid  ispredde  ermes  leapeö  lauhwinde  uorö,  and  cluppeö  and 
cusseö,  and  wipeö  his  eien.  Riht  so  ure  Louerd  let  us  one  iwuröen 
oöer  hwules,  and  \vi6draweo  his  grace,  and  his  cumfort,  and  his  eine, 
J)et  we  ne  iuindeö  swetnesse  in  none  ^inge  pet  we  wel  doö,  ne  sauur 
of  heorte  ;  and  tauh,  iöet  ilke  point,  ne  luueö  he  us  ure  leoue  ueder 
neuer  \>e  lesce,  auh  he  deö  hit  for  muchel  luue  J)et  he  haueö  to  us. 
Ancren  Rhule,  p.  230,  et  seq. 

The  sixth  comfort  is  that  our  Lord,  when  he  permits  that  we  be 
tempted,  plays  with  us,  as  a  mother  with  her  young  darling :  she  flies 
from  it,  and  hides  herself,  and  lets  it  sit  alone,  and  look  about  anx- 
iously and  cry  "Dame!  Dame!  "  and  weep  awhile;  and  then  she  leaps 
forth  laughing,  with  outspread  arms,  and  embraces  and  kisses  it,  and 
wipes  its  eyes.  Just  so  our  Lord  sometimes  leaves  us  alone,  and  with 
draws  his  grace,  his  comfort,  and  his  support,  so  that  we  find  no  sweet- 


THE  ANCREN  RIWLE,  203 

ness  in  anything  we  do  well,  nor  any  satisfaction  of  heart.  And  yet 
He  loves  us  at  the  same  time,  our  dear  Father,  nevertheless,  but  He 
does  it  for  the  great  love  that  He  has  for  us. 

The  author  reveals  his  innermost  being  in  the  chapter 
that  we  have  called  the  central  one  of  his  work.  There 
the  theme  of  divine  love  is  treated  in  the  tender,  charming 
manner,  which  forms  such  a  notable  contrast  to  that  of  the 
more  ancient  English  writers.  A  beautiful  parable  discloses 
Christ,  who,  in  the  person  of  a  mighty  king,  does  every- 
thing to  win  the  love  of  the  human  soul ;  he  hastens  to  the 
help  of  a  poor  castle-lady,  hard  pressed  by  her  enemies, 
loads  her  with  favours,  woos  her  with  all  the  sweetness  of 
his  being,  and,  not  deterred  by  her  indifference  or  heartless- 
ness,  offers  up  his  life  as  a  sacrifice  for  her.  This  is  dwelt 
upon  at  length,  and  with  impressive  admonitions.  The  love 
of  Christ  is  compared  with  every  other  kind  of  love,  and 
portrayed  in  its  glory.  Christ  himself  is  introduced  speak- 
ing to  the  soul.  "Thy  love,  says  the  Lord,  is  either  to  be 
given  freely,  or  it  is  to  be  sold,  or  stolen  and  taken  by  force. 
If  it  is  to  be  given,  where  couldst  thou  better  bestow  it  than 
upon  me  ?  Am  I  not  the  fairest  thing  ?  Am  I  not  the 
richest  king  ?  Am  I  not  of  the  highest  hneage  ?  .  .  .  .  Am 
I  not  the  most  courteous  of  men  ?  Am  I  not  the  most  lib- 
eral of  men  ?  Am  I  not  of  all  things  the  sweetest  and  love- 
Hest  ?  ....  If  thy  love  is  not  to  be  given,  but  thou  wilt  by- 
all  means  that  it  be  bought,  do  say  how :  either  with  other 
love  or  with  somewhat  else  ?  One  rightly  sells  love  for 
love,  and  thus  love  ought  to  be  sold,  and  for  nothing  else. 
If  thy  love  is  to  be  sold,  I  have  bought  it  with  love  above  all 

other And  if  thou  say  est  that  thou  wilt  not  value  it 

so  cheaply,  but  thou  wilt  have  yet  more,  name  what  it  shall 
be.  Set  a  price  upon  thy  love.  Thou  shalt  not  say  so 
much,  that  I  will  not  give  thee  much  more  for  thy  love. 
Wouldst  thou  have  castles  and  kingdoms?  Wouldst  thou 
rule  all  this  world  ?  I  will  do  better  for  thee.  I  will  make 
thee,  with  all  this,  queen  of  heaven."^ 

The  same  theme  underlies  a  special  minor  work,  called 
Wohimge  of  ure  Laiierde,  Here  it  is  the  soul  that  has  chosen 
Christ  as  her  bridegroom,  and  while  she  tenders  him  her  love, 
she  extols  him  in  language  full  of  poetry  and  warmth  and 
overflowing  feeling.     Many  of  its  passages  naturally  accord 

'  A  wren  Riwk,  p.  397,  et  seg. 


204  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

with  the  seventh  book  of  the  Agieren  Riwle.  We  are  also 
brought  into  the  same  circle  of  ideas  and  feelings  by  some 
prayers  to  Christ  or  the  Holy  Virgin,  which  have  come  to 
us  scattered  in  contemporary  manuscripts. 

To  the  fondness  of  that  age  for  parable  and  allegory,  we 
owe,  among  other  things,  the  graceful  homily^  on  Matt.  xxiv. 
43,  by  a  gifted  writer.  Man  is  compared  to  a  house  or 
castle,  whose  innermost  recess  contains  a  precious  treasure, 
the  soul.  The  man  of  the  house  is  called  Wit,  which  we 
may  here  translate  by  "judgment."  He  is  named  God's 
constable,  and  has  the  best  will  to  guard  the  house  and 
treasure  against  the  robbers  that  invest  it.  Unfortunately, 
he  has  a  self-willed,  disobedient  wife,  called  Will,  and  the 
servants,  who  do  partly  out-of-door  and  partly  in-door  ser- 
vice (the  five  senses — the  thoughts),  are  hard  to  manage, 
and  follow  the  woman  rather  than  the  master.  Hence  the 
man  of  the  house  very  much  needs  the  support  of  his  four 
daughters  :  Prudence,  Strength,  Moderation,  and  Righteous- 
ness. The  apparition  of  two  messengers  has  a  most  benefi- 
cent influence  upon  the  entire  household;  the  first,  whom 
Prudence  has  caused  to  appear,  is  called  Fear,  the  messen- 
ger of  Death ;  he  paints  for  the  members  of  the  household  a 
terrifying  picture  of  hell,  whence  he  comes.  The  second, 
whom  God  sends  to  comfort  the  family,  is  called  Love  of 
Life,  the  messenger  of  Mirth ;  he  impressively  depicts  the  de- 
lights of  heaven,  and  he  does  it  so  charmingly  that  some  of  the 
music  that  fills  the  poet's  soul  seems  to  communicate  itself 
to  his  language.  The  high  dignity  of  virginity  reappears  in 
this  work.  Only  when  the  heavenly  choir  of  virgins  suppli- 
cate God,  does  he  rise  from  his  throne,  while  he  hears  the 
other  saints  sitting.  When  the  messenger  of  Mirth  has  fin- 
ished his  speech,  it  is  resolved  to  retain  him,  but  whenever 
he  becomes  silent,  to  take  the  messenger  of  Death  into  the 
house.  The  housewife  and  servants,  however,  have  become 
very  quiet  and  obedient ;  the  house  is  now  well  ordered  and 
well  guarded. 

Probably  all  the  productions  considered  in  this  chapter  be- 
long to  the  first  quarter  of  the  thirteenth  century.  We  may 
assume  that  they  arose  in  the  territory  formed  by  the  coun- 
ties of  Dorset,  Wilton,  and  Southampton,  including  perhaps 

*  Sawles  Warde,  compare  Morris,  Old  English  Homilies,  p.  245,  et  seq. 


RELIGIOUS  LYRICAL  POETRY.  205 

Gloucestershire  and  Oxfordshire.  As  to  the  Ancren  Riwk, 
a  manuscript  allusion  designates  Tarente,  on  the  river  Stour 
in  Dorsetshire,  as  the  residence  of  the  three  virgins  for  whom 
the  rule  was  originally  written.  This  notice,  it  is  true,  is  not 
absolutely  authentic;  but  it  is  just  as  little  to  be  absolutely 
rejected.  A  clever  conjecture  based  upon  this  has  identified 
the  author  of  that  work  with  the  learned  and  pious  Richard 
Poor,  who  was  successively  dean  of  Salisbury,  bishop  of  Chi- 
chester, bishop  of  Salisbury,  and  finally  bishop  of  Durham. 
Born  in  Tarente,  Richard  is  known  as  the  benefactor  of  a 
nunnery  there,  and  there  his  heart  was  entombed  after  his 
death,  in  1237.  However  pleasing,  this  hypothesis  leaves 
room  for  many  doubts.  At  all  events,  there  is  no  authority 
whatever  for  ascribing  most  of  the  remaining  works  just  con- 
sidered, or  all  of  them,  to  the  author  of  the  Ancren  Rkvle. 
This  work,  however,  was  reproduced  in  several  copies,  and 
afterward  even  translated  into  French  and  Latin,  and  cer- 
tainly did  exercise  a  potent  influence  upon  contemporaries 
as  well  as  their  immediate  descendants. 

XIII. 

The  new  lyrical  poetry  likewise  developed  mainly  in  the 
South ;  though  the  midland  country  took  some  part  in  its 
growth. 

The  theme  of  the  religious  Minne  here  asserted  itself  from 
the  start.  A  prayer  to  the  Virgin,  a  religious  love-song  full 
of  lofty  enthusiasm,  appeared  soon  after  the  beginning  of 
the  thirteenth  century. 

"  Gentle  mother  of  Christ,  Saint  Mary,  light  of  my  life, 
my  dear,  to  thee  I  bow  and  bend  my  knees,  and  all  my 
heart's  blood  I  offer  to  thee.  Thou  art  the  light  of  my  soul, 
and  my  heart's  bliss,  my  life  and  my  hope,  my  sure  salva- 
tion." 

And  thus  it  continues.  The  poet  outdoes  himself  in  hy- 
perbole; though  we  are  once  or  twice  reminded  that  only 
the  second  place  in  heaven  falls  properly  to  the  Virgin,  and 
the  first  to  Christ.  But,  as  a  rule,  we  feel  as  if  the  Deity 
himself  were  addressed.  Mary  redeems  from  the  power  of 
the  devil,  she  is  the  source  of  life,  heaven  is  full  of  her  bless- 
edness, and  the  earth  of  her  mercy.     The  angels  never  weary 


206  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

of  looking  upon  her  beauty.  She  bestows  mercy  and  grace 
upon  each  who  suppHcates  her.  She  grants  eternal  rest 
with  sweet  bliss.  To  look  upon  her  in  her  splendour  is  the 
most  ardent  wish  of  the  poet.  He  will  not  leave  her  for  all 
the  world. 

"  As  long  as  I  have  life  and  strength,  nothing  shall  part 
me  from  thy  service ;  before  thy  feet  I  will  lie  and  cry  out 
until  I  have  forgiveness  for  my  misdeeds.  My  life  is  thine, 
my  love  is  thine,  my  heart's  blood  is  thine,  and  if  I  dare  say 
it,  my  dear  mistress,  thou  art  mine."^ 

The  portrayal  of  the  joys  of  heaven  is  also  characteristic. 
Mary  makes  her  friends  rich  kings,  gives  them  princely  gar- 
ments, bracelets,  golden  rings.  In  heaven  they  shall  have 
golden  cups,  and  they  shall  be  given  eternal  life.  Mary's 
heavenly  court  is  covered  with  cloth  of  gold,  all  wear  golden 
crowns,  and  are  as  red  as  the  rose  and  white  as  the  lily. 
The  poet's  words  kindle,  because  they  come  from  enthu- 
siasm. He  has  httle  artistic  culture ;  his  grouping  and  ar- 
rangement are  very  imperfect. 

The  metre  is  simple.  Long  lines  are  paired  by  end- 
rhyme  ;  their  character  cannot  easily  be  defined,  because  the 
poet  seems  to  oscillate  between  old  and  new  metrical  prin- 
ciples. 

Several  songs,  clearly  betraying  the  influence  of  the  Poema 
morale,  may  be  placed  in  the  second  quarter  of  the  century. 
Their  metrical  form  is  manifestly  founded  upon  the  verse  of 
this  poem,  notwithstanding  the  great  liberties  which  some 
poets  took  with  it,  perhaps  under  the  influence  of  the  French 
Alexandrines.  The  weightiest  change,  however,  is  the  sub- 
stitution of  the  strophe  of  four  Hues,  with  continuous  rhyme, 
for  the  strophe  of  two  lines.  Besides  the  Middle  Latin  po- 
etry, the  French  could  also  have  given  the  precedent  for  this. 

Various  poetic  individuahties  assert  themselves  in  the 
handling  of  this  form.  We  have,  for  instance,  a  virile,  but 
unproductive,  somewhat  harsh  nature  in  a  monk  of  the  old 
school,  who,  in  a  song  to  the  Virgin,^  bitterly  laments  his 
former  worldly  life.  Well-known  ideas  from  the  Poema 
morale  were  clearly  in  his  mind ;  he  did  not  hesitate  to  take 
entire  verses  from  it.      But  he  produced  a  homogeneous 

'  V.  153,  et  seq.,  Morris,  Old  English  Hoviilies,  p.  169. 
*  A  Prayer  to  Our  Lady,  Morris,  Old  English  Miscellany,  p.  192,  et  seq. 


LYRICAL  POETRY — METRE.  207 

poem,  since  he  had  the  closest  affinity  with  his  source,  and 
quite  assimilated  what  he  drew  from  it.  He  is  much  more 
naive  and  uncultured  than  his  model,  and  moves  within  a 
narrow  horizon.  We  can  but  smile  when  he  charges  him- 
self with  genuine  Teutonic  sins,  and  confesses  that  he  has 
Often  drunken  wine,  and  rarely  from  the  spring. 

Quite  a  different  personality  is  revealed  in  another  song  to 
the  Virgin.^  It  strikes,  in  flowing  verse,  a  more  lyrical  tone, 
and  expresses  gushing  feeling  in  less  popular  diction.  Be- 
sides some  suggestions  of  the  Poema  morale  is  evident  the 
influence  of  a  more  recent  school,  and  Romanic  words  ap- 
pear in  important  passages.  Poems  on  Death  ^  and  the 
Last  Judgment^  breathe  forth  the  Old  English  seriousness 
of  doctrine  and  speculation.  The  former  almost  entirely 
lacks  true  lyrical  moments.  It  expresses  the  sombre  fancy 
which  makes  the  departed  soul  speak  to  the  corpse,  and  feels 
a  horrid  delight  in  the  detailed  description  of  the  physical 
phenomena  accompanying  and  following  death,  and  in  the 
portrayal  of  the  torments  of  hell.  The  latter  forms  a  well- 
arranged,  effective  picture,  from  a  material  which  many  poets 
were  yet  to  handle. 

Richer  and  more  animated  strophe-forms,  in  shorter  verses, 
in  imitation  of  the  Latin  hymn  and  the  French  lyric,  appear 
at  every  hand.  Now  it  is  the  system  of  the  tail-rhyme 
(rynie  cojiee),  in  which  the  couplets  of  the  strophe  are  inter- 
rupted by  an  isolated  verse  or  refrain,  ending  always  with 
the  same  sound ;  this  form  was  a  favourite  in  the  ecclesias- 
tical sequence,  and  it  was  later  nationalised  by  the  ballad- 
singers  in  England  more  completely  than  in  any  other  part 
of  Europe.  Now  the  rhyming  lines  alternate  in  the  manner 
of  the  courtly  art,  whereby  the  combination  of  the  interlaced 
(rime  croisee),  and  of  the  pairing  rhyme  [rime plate),  enhances 
the  effect.  A  more  decided  influence  of  French  poetry,  in 
the  use  of  the  latter  form,  makes  itself  felt  also  upon  the 
style;  we  sometimes  have  direct  imitations  of  Norman  mod- 
els. But  a  national  influence  continues  to  act,  proceeding 
from  the  well-rounded  style  of  the  Poema  morale,  and  the  terse 
expression  of  simple  worldly-wisdom  in  Aelfred's  Proverbs. 

'  Reliquiae  antiquae,  \.  102,  et  seq.     Old  Engl.  Misc.,  p.  195,  et  seq. 

a  Old  Engl.  Misc.,  p.  168,  et  seq. 

'  Ibid.,  p.  162,  et  seq. 


2o8  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

One  of  the  latter  furnishes  the  theme  of  an  excellent  poem 
on  the  transitoriness  of  life.^  On  the  whole,  we  cannot  fail 
to  perceive,  in  this  first  rise  of  mediaeval  English  lyrical 
poetry,  the  folk-like  originality  with  which  were  utilised  the 
incitements  offered  by  the  more  recent  European  literature 
in  the  Latin  or  French  language.  It  is  evident  in  a  certain 
restrained  freedom  in  the  use  of  the  new  forms,  still  more  in 
the  intensity,  the  deep  seriousness,  with  which  the  new 
themes  are  conceived,  and  which  we  hear  in  the  softer  tone, 
the  quicker  tempo  of  the  new  melody. 

The  lyrical  tone  becomes  more  perfect  in  the  new  forms. 
It  is  often  distinctly  heard  in  purely  reflective  or  didactic 
poetry,  where  the  poet  warns  sinners  and  points  to  death  and 
the  judgment;  but  it  appears  most  clearly  when  he  sings 
the  joys  of  the  Virgin,  or  the  sufferings  of  Christ,  when  he 
echoes  the  longing  of  spiritual  love,  or  seeks  to  awaken  it. 
Most  charming  of  all  is  the  note  of  the  Love-Song'^  of  the 
Franciscan  Thomas  de  Hales,  whose  name  is  once  honoura- 
bly mentioned  in  the  letters  of  his  famous  brother  in  the 
order  Adam  de  Marisco  :  ^  • 

A  maid  of  Christ  entreateth  me, 

A  love-song  for  her  to  indite, 
That  thus  she  may  instructed  be 

To  choose  a  lover  true  aright, 
The  best  to  guard  a  woman  free, 

Of  all  men  born,  most  loyal  knight. 
Nor  shall  her  wish  refused  be, 

To  teach  her  this,  be  my  delight. 

Maiden,  thou  mayest  here  behold, 

This  earthly  love  is  but  a  race. 
And  is  beset  so  manifold, 

Is  fickle,  frail,  with  lying  face. 
Its  servers  that  before  were  bold 

Are  flown  as  wind  without  a  trace, 
Beneath  the  mould  are  lying  cold, 

Like  meadow-grass  in  faded  place. 


•  Old  Engl.  Misc.,  p.  156,  et  seq. 

'  A  Luve  Ron.  Incipit  quidam  cantus  quem  composuit  fiater  Thomas  de  hales  de 
ordine  fratrum  Minorum.  ad  iiistanciam  cuiusdam  puelle  deo  dicate.  Morris,  Old 
Engl.  Misc.,  p.  93,  et  seq. 

3  Ep.  CCXXVII  (to  Brother  Thomas  of  York) :  Salutetis,  obsecro,  obsequio  md 
specialissimos  (sic!)  patres,  fratrcm  A.  de  Lexinton,  fratrem  Ricardum  de  Walda, 
fratrem  Willielmum  de  Basinge,  fratrem  TJwinam  de  Hales,  et  alios  mihi  devotos. 
Monumenta  Franciscatia,  ed.  J.  S.  Brewer,  p.  395. 


LOVE-SONG.  209 


None  is  so  rich,  none  is  so  free, 

But  hence  he  soon  must  take  his  way, 
Nor  can  vain  pomp  his  safeguard  be. 

Ermine  nor  gold  nor  broideries  gay. 
None  is  so  swift  that  he  may  flee, 

Nor  keep  off  death  one  single  day. 
Thus  is  this  world,  as  thou  mayst  see; 

Thus  do  its  shadows  glide  away. 

A  transitory  world  we  find  ; 

For  when  one  comes,  another  goes. 
What  was  before  is  now  behind, 

And  what  was  dear,  now  hateful  grows. 
Therefore  he  walks  as  do  the  blind 

Who  in  this  world  his  love  bestows. 
The  earth  will  vanish  out  of  mind, 

And  truth  come  back,  when  error  goes. 


Man's  love  but  for  an  hour  is  crowned, 

For  now  he  loveth,  now  is  sad. 
Now  Cometh  he,  now  hence  is  bound; 

Now  is  he  wroth,  and  now  is  glad. 
His  love,  erst  here,  is  distant  found; 

And  now  he  loves  what  once  he  had. 
Falseness,  deceit  in  him  abound ; 

Who  trusteth  to  him,  must  be  mad. 

If  man  be  rich  in  worldly  weal. 

His  anxious  heart  must  smart  and  ache. 
In  deepest  dread  that  men  may  steal, 

Long,  painful  nights  he  lieth  awake. 
His  sighs  perplexing  thoughts  reveal, 

How  he  may  guard  his  treasure's  stake. 
His  end  will  help  these  woes  to  heal, 

For  death  from  him  his  all  will  take. 

Paris  and  Helen,  where  are  they, 

Fairest  in  beauty,  bright  to  view? 
Amadas,  Tristram,  Tdeine,  yea, 

Isold,  that  loved  with  love  so  true  ? 
And  Caesar,  rich  in  power  and  sway. 

Hector,  the  strong,  with  might  to  do? 
All  glided  from  earth's  realm  away. 

Like  shaft  that  swift  from  bowstring  flew. 

It  is  as  if  they  ne'er  were  here. 

Their  wondrous  woes  have  been  a-told, 
That  it  is  sorrow  but  to  hear : 

How  anguish  killed  them  seven-fold, 
O 


2IO  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

And  how  with  dole  their  lives  were  drear. 

Now  is  their  heat  all  turned  to  cold. 
Thus  this  world  gives  false  hope,  false  fear ; 

A  fool,  who  in  her  strength  is  bold. 

"Were  man  as  rich,  as  high  of  birth, 

As  Henry'  is,  our  lord  and  king, 
As  fair  as  Absalom,  of  worth 

Too  great  to  find  an  equalling. 
Yet  of  his  pride  soon  would  be  dearth, 

At  last  no  herring's  price  t'would  bring. 
Maid,  wish  no  lover  upon  earth, 

But  fix  thine  eyes  on  heaven's  King. 

Ah,  Sweet,  could'st  thou  but  know,  but  view, 

The  virtues  of  this  Lord  of  light ! 
Fair  to  behold,  of  radiant  hue. 

And  glad  of  mien,  of  presence  bright, 
Of  lovesome  mood,  of  trust  all  true. 

Full  free  of  heart,  in  wisdom  right. 
Never  would'st  thou  have  cause  to  rue, 

If  thou  but  yieldedst  to  his  might. 

His  riches  spread  o'er  field  and  strand, 

As  far  as  men  speak  aught  with  mouth. 
All  here  belongeth  to  his  hand. 

From  east  to  west,  from  north  to  south. 
Henry,  the  king  of  Engeland, 

His  vassal  is,  and  to  him  boweth. 
Maiden,  oh  hear  his  sweet  command. 

For  to  thee  now  his  love  he  troweth. 

He  asks  of  her  neither  lands  nor  people,  neither  treasure 
nor  costly  garments ;  he  has  enough  of  all  and  gives  her  for 
her  love  such  garb  as  no  king  and  no  emperor  possesses. 
His  dwelling,  incomparably  more  beautiful  than  any  build- 
ing of  Solomon,  has  a  firm  foundation  and  will  never  totter. 
In  it  prevails  eternal  jubilee  and  unclouded  peace ;  the  sight 
of  the  loved  one  gives  highest  bliss.  He  has  entrusted  a 
jewel  to  his  friend,  surpassing  all  jewels  in  brilliancy  and 
worth,  which  shines  brightly  in  heaven's  bower;  this  is  vir- 
ginity, which  she  shall  jealously  guard  against  every  enemy. 
The  poet  has  now  fulfilled  the  wish  of  the  virgin,  and  selected 
the  best  lover  for  her  that  he  can  find.  How  ill  would  one 
act  who,  having  to  choose  between  two,  should  choose  the 
worse ! 

T 1 — ■ ■ '  ■  ■■?g' 

1  Jienrj'  III.  of  England. 


THE  LYRIC.  2rt 

Dear  maid,  this  rhyme  I  to  thee  send, 

Open,  and  without  clasp  or  seal. 
Unroll  its  words,  to  them  attend ; 

Learn  without  book  for  thy  soul's  weal. 
Quickly  to  other  maidens  lend, 

Nor  of  its  teachings  aught  conceal ; 
Thus  they  may  con  it  to  the  end. 

And  steadfast  help  it  will  reveal. 

And  when  thou  sittest  sorrowing. 

Draw  forth  this  scroll  now  writ  by  me. 
"With  voice  of  sweetness  do  it  sing, 

Keep  its  commands  most  faithfully, 
For  thee  hath  greeted  heaven's  King. 

May  God  Almighty  bide  with  thee, 
Safe  to  his  bridal  chamber  bring. 

High  in  the  heavens  eternally. 

We  have  here  an  art-poetry  not  quite  developed  in  form, 
of  the  simplest,  noblest  mould,  a  contemplative  lyric,  which, 
springing  from  warm  feeling,  moves  calmly  and  quietly, 
without  subtlety  of  reflection  or  trifling  with  forms,  in  eupho- 
nious, richly  figurative  speech.  The  poet  is  quite  within  the 
culture  of  his  time ;  he  has  poetical  ideas  at  his  command, 
and  possesses  the  lyrical  ear  and  fancy.  He  has  evidently 
not  yet  learned  to  be  concise,  and  when  he  sings  the  praise 
of  virginity,  he  lavishes,  as  was  usual  in  such  cases,  too 
many  names  of  jewels,  whose  enumeration  we  have  spared 
the  reader. 

XIV. 

The  distinctions  between  the  religious  song  and  poetical 
reflection,  or  even  the  sermon,  in  that  epoch,  are  impercep- 
tible. Only  by  degrees  did  specific  literary  types  gain  defi- 
nite form  in  the  growing  artistic  development,  or  given  sets 
of  material  become  connected  with  given  forms.  Men  long 
grope  for  the  right,  and  only  the  .happy  instinct  finds  it. 
The  central  point  of  a  circle  of  ideas  is,  indeed,  unmistaka- 
ble. The  direct  expression  of  subjective  feeling  cannot  be 
confounded  with  a  speech  intended  to  instruct  a  certain 
audience. 

For  even  the  true  sermon  disguised  itself  often  enough  in 
the  vesture  of  rhythm,  as  in  Aelfric's  time.  Let  us  enter 
the  over-crowded  church,  where  a  monk  in  grey  cowl  stands 


212  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

in  the  pulpit,  and  sharply  addresses  the  conscience  of  his 
somewhat  dazed  hearers.     He  makes  hell  hot  for  them  all 

in  turn. 

All  those  deceiving  chapmen,  the  devil  yet  will  get  them. 
The  bakers  and  the  brewers,  to  cheat  all  men  do  set  them  ; 
They  hold  low  down  the  gallon,  and  then  with  foam  they  fill. 
And  out  of  each  man's  purse,  its  silver  quick  they  spill. 
And  very  poor  they  make  their  bread  and  eke  their  ale ; 
For  if  they  take  the  silver  in,  they  never  tell  a  tale. 
Good  people,  for  God's  love,  believe,  such  things  are  sin, 
And  at  the  last  will  lose  you  the  heaven  you  would  win. 
All  the  wives  of  priests  shall  then,  I  wot,  be  most  forlorn, 
And  of  the  priests  themselves,  all  sins  shall  not  be  borne, 
Nor  of  those  proud  young  men  that  love  their  Malekin, 
Nor  yet  those  maidens  bold  that  dote  on  Janekin. 
At  church  and  at  the  market,  when  they  together  rove, 
They  quickly  gather  whispering  and  speak  of  secret  love. 
"When  to  the  church  they  come  on  any  holy  day. 
Each  one  but  goes  to  see  his  love  there,  if  he  may. 
Then  she  beholdeth  Watkin,  as  glad  as  she  can  be. 
But  home  she  leaves  her  rosary,  locked  up  full  carefully. 
For  masses  and  for  matins  she  certainly  cares  nought; 
To  Wilkin  and  to  Watkin,  she  gives  her  every  thought,  i 

The  ecclesiastical  epic  was  likewise  adapted  to  oral  de- 
livery, in  church  or  open  air,  or  in  a  large  room  in  cloister 
or  castle.  "  Hear  a  little  story  which  I  will  tell  to  you,  as 
we  find  it  written  in  the  Gospel.  It  is  not  of  Charlemagne 
and  the  twelve  peers,  but  of  Christ's  passion  which  he  suf- 
fered here."^  Thus  begins  a  rhythmical  account  of  the  pas- 
sion, with  nice  adjustment,  combining  the  facts  given  by  the 
evangelists  into  a  sober,  somewhat  terse  narrative,  now  and 
then  broken  by  brief  reflection  or  exclamation.  To  the  pas- 
sion is  appended  an  account  of  the  resurrection,  perhaps 
from  another  pen,  but  resembling  it  in  style  and  tendency. 
A  short  narrative  of  Christ's  meeting  with  the  Samaritan  is 
complete  in  itself;  it  gives  no  direct  evidence  that  it  was 
intended  for  oral  delivery. 

One  form  predominates  in  all  these  poems.  The  verse 
oscillates  between  the  Old  French  Alexandrine  and  the  sep- 
tenarius,  so  that  it  approaches  very  near  to  the  Anglo-Nor- 
man Alexandrines  of  a  Jordan  Fantosme.  But  the  English 
verse  in  more  than  one  respect  betrays  the  after-effect  of  the 

1  Morris,  Old  £  tig.  Misc.,  p.  189. 
2  Ibid.,  p.  37.  ^ 


VISION  OF  PAUL.  213 

ancient  native  long  line.  As  in  many  French  poems  of  the 
time  and  class,  there  is  a  disposition  to  make  a  strophic  di- 
vision. The  strophe,  as  a  rule,  includes  four  or  six  lines, 
which,  however,  do  not  require  like  rhymes,  as  with  the 
French. 

Besides  this  metre,  the  short  couplet  occurs  in  the  relig- 
ious epic  and  descriptive  poetry,  and  precisely  that  form  of 
it  which  we  first  found  in  the  Paternoster.  This  form  is 
handled  very  skilfully  by  the  poet  of  an  English  Visio  Fault; 
or,  as  the  superscription  in  the  manuscript  runs,  Ici  comeji- 
cent  les  onze  pey7ies  de  eiifern.  les  queiis  seynt  pool  7^(ist),^ 
"  here  commence  the  eleven  pains  of  hell,  which  Saint  Paul 
saw."  Yet  strangely  enough,  the  acting,  that  is  to  say,  the 
observing  or  narrating  personage  of  the  poem  is  not  Saint 
Paul,  but  a  great  sinner  who  has  dwelt  in  hell,  not  only  as 
a  guest  but  as  an  inhabitant,  and  is  brought  back  to  life  by 
God's  omnipotence.  Satan  meets  him  on  earth,  and  asks 
with  indignant  astonishment,  "  Wretched  ghost,  what  dost 
thou  here  ?  Thou  wast  my  companion  in  hell.  Who  has 
unlocked  hell's  door  that  thou  hast  fled  the  pain  ?  "  "  Wilt 
thou  hear  from  me,  Satan,  how  I  have  escaped  from  hell  ? 
Worms  gnawed  m>  flesh,  and  my  friends  forgot  me.  I  was 
a  man,  as  thou  well  knowest,  and  now  I  am  a  wretched  ghost. 
I  have  been  long  in  hell ;  that  may  one  see  in  my  hue. 
Man  may  take  an  example  of  me  who  would  forsake  his 
sins.  To  his  misfortune  he  was  born,  who  was  lost  on  account 
of  his  sins.  For  the  man  who  so  acts  that  his  soul  goes  to 
hell,  shall  suffer  more  pains  than  there  are  birds  flying  un- 
der heaven."  An  account  of  the  hell  torments  then  follows, 
in  the  well-known  eleven  rubrics ;  it  essentially  agrees  with 
the  usual  version  of  what  St.  Paul  saw  under  the  guidance 
of  Michael.  Nation-al  literature^  first  took  up  this  material 
in  France,  and  our  English  poem  decidedly  points  to  a 
French  model.  The  translator  even  left,  in  the  original  lan- 
guage, the  opening,  the  close,  and  a  third  passus ;  in  short, 
all  the  passages  in  which  the  poet  speaks  in  the  first  person.^ 

*  Morris,  Old  Engl.  Misc.,  p.  147. 

*  To  say  "  national  poetry"  instead  of  "  national  literature  "  would  have  been  more 
correct;  for  English  homiletics  had  used  this  material  as  early  as,  if  not  earlier  than, 
French  poetry. 

*  Of  these  three  passages,  only  the  closing  verses  are  translated,  and  with  amplifica- 
tion. If  the  translation  thus  added  is  not  partially  or  entirely  the  work  of  a  transcriber, 
tbc  English  poet's  name  was  Hug. 


214  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

The  proverb-poetry  of  the  period  was  but  little  affected 
by  foreign  art.  It  frequently  yields  notes  from  the  ancient 
national  poetry,  as  in  the  following  example  : 

When  thou  seest  a  people 
With  king  that  is  wilful. 
Covetous  judge, 
Priest  that  is  wild, 
Bishop  of  sloth, 
Old  men  of  lewdness, 
Young  men  all  liars, 
Women  shameless. 
Unbridled  children, 
The  nobles  bad  wretches, 
The  land  without  law. 
Then,  says  Beda, 
Woe  to  the  nation.* 

A  theme  often  recurring,  and  in  manifold  variation,  is 
contained  in  the  following  saying : 

Each  day  to  me  come  tidings  three, 
Of  which  I  think  full  sorrowingly. 
One  is  that  hence  I  must  away ; 
Another,  I  know  not  the  day  ; 
The  third  is  my  soul's  greatest  care : 
I  know  not  whither  I  shall  fare.« 

The  plain  form  of  the  short  couplet  very  properly  predom- 
inates in  the  proverbs.     Alternate  rhyme  is  the  exception. 

In  this  connection  we  may  appropriately  mention  a  poem 
which  is  steeped  with  popular  proverbial  wisdom :  The  Owl 
and  the  Nightingale.  Representing  the  highest  contempo- 
rary art,  this  poem  diverges,  in  many  unique  qualities,  from 
the  southern  art-poetry,  to  which  it  belongs,  in  language 
and  locahty,  first,  in  the  subject,  which  is  not  religious,  and 
not  less  in  its  purely  national  colour  and  original  treatment. 
This  betokens  the  man  of  polite  culture,  and  the  scholar; 
but  nowhere  does  the  ecclesiastic  become  prominent  in  its 
noble,  simple,  and  popular  tone.  The  question  arises,  if  the 
author  was  not  a  merry,  half-ecclesiastical,  half-secular  wan- 
dering cleric,  a  student  of  many  years'  standing,  one  who, 
perhaps,  had  long  studied  at  Oxford.  The  time  had  come 
when  these  clerkes^  who,  for  several  centuries,  had  composed 

•  Morris,  Old  Engl.  Misc.,  p.  185.  Compare  also  the  Old  English  homily  d^JCII 
abusivis,  as  analysed  by  Dietrich,  Zeitschriß/ür  historische  Theologie,  1855,  p.  518,  et 
seq. 

'  Ibid.,  p.  loi. 


tHE  Ö\VL  ÄND  THE  NIGHTINGALE.  215 

in  Latin,  were  to  turn  to  the  national  art.  The  deep  serious- 
ness beneath  his  cheerful  humour  indicates  that  the  author 
was  a  mature  man.  The  wandering  cleric  had  possibly, 
several  years  before,  laid  aside  the  pilgrim's  staff,  and  ac- 
cepted a  living,  perhaps  in  Dorset  or  an  adjacent  county. 
For  the  Master  Nicholas  of  Guildford,  whom  he  so  highly 
reveres,  dwells  in  Porteshom,  in  Dorsetshire,  and  he  it  is 
whom  the  heroines  choose  as  an  arbiter  in  their  dispute. 

This  dispute  between  the  owl  and  the  nightingale  forms 
the  subject-matter  of  the  poem.  It  is  the  first  instance  in 
the  English  language  of  the  contests  in  verse,  already  long 
current  in  French  literature.  They  appeared  first  in  the 
poetry  of  the  troubadours,  as  true  poetical  controversies  be- 
tween two  opponents ;  later,  among  the  North  French,  who 
had  been  preceded  by  Middle  Latin  poets  in  this,  in  the 
form  of  debates  between  different  classes  personified,  or 
different  animals,  between  water  and  wine,  body  and  soul, 
sometimes  in  dramatic,  sometimes  in  epic  form.  As  direct 
dialogue,  these  desbats,  estrifs,  dispiitoisoiis^  or  whatever  they 
may  be  called,  were  important  in  the  development  of  the 
drama. 

The  form  of  The  Owl  and  the  Nightingale  is  epic.  It  is 
the  poet  who  relates  the  occurrence,  having  been  present, 
unseen,  at  the  dispute. 

The  nightingale  picks  the  quarrel.  Sitting  upon  a  flower- 
ing twig  in  the  close  hedge,  she  is  disturbed  in  her  sweet 
singing  by  the  sight  of  the  owl  upon  an  old  ivy-grown  trunk 
near  by,  and  abuses  her  in  harsh  and  contemptuous  language. 
The  owl  waits  until  evening,  and  then  duly  responds.  The 
ice  is  broken,  and  a  flood  of  speeches  and  retorts  in  attack 
and  defence  follows,  with  occasional  pauses.  Each  criticises 
the  nature,  manner  of  life,  and  especially  the  singing  of  her 
opponent,  and  brings  forward  her  own  good  qualities.  It 
is  the  old  conflict  between  beauty,  brilliancy,  youth,  cheer- 
fulness, and  a  serious,  gloomy,  sullen  old  age,  between  pleas- 
ure and  asceticism.  Singularly  enough,  the  poet  seems  to 
side  with  the  owl,  notwithstanding  his  very  impersonal  at- 
titude. What  phase  of  the  contrast,  what  strife  raging  in  his 
time  and  vicinity,  did  the  poet  have  in  mind  ?  For  it  is  the 
remoter  background,  the  veiled  purpose  naturally  looked 
for,  that  attracts  us  in  this  poem.     The  modern  reader  un- 


2l6  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

consciously  thinks  of  the  opposition  of  the  court-party  and 
the  barons.  But  the  poet  did  not  conceive  the  matter  thus 
generally.  He  must  have  had  in  view  definite  persons  and 
relations  in  church  or  state.  Yet  his  concern  extends  far 
beyond  personal  issues  and  party  strife.  It  embraces  life 
and  nature,  with  warm  and  liberal  sympathy.  The  aesthetic 
side  of  his  view  is  represented  by  the  nightingale,  the  moral 
by  the  owl;  yet  the  nightingale,  too,  would  promote  ethical 
or  religious  aims,  and  within  this  very  field  does  her  view  of 
life  serve  to  supplement  and  correct  the  reverse  phase.  The 
nightingale  says : 

Thou  askest  me,  Owl,  she  said,  whether  I  can  do  anything  but  sing 
during  the  summer  tide,  and  bring  bliss  far  and  wide.  Why  askest 
thou  of  my  gifts  ?  Better  is  my  one  than  all  of  thine.  Better  is  one 
song,  from  my  mouth,  than  all  thy  kind  could  ever  do.  And  listen, 
I  will  tell  thee  wherefore  :  dost  thou  know  for  what  man  was  born  ? 
For  the  bliss  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ;  there  ever  is  song  and  mirth 
without  ceasing.  Thither  tendeth  every  man  who  can  do  anything  good. 
Hence  it  is  that  men  sing  in  the  holy  church,  and  clerks  make  songs  ; 
so  that  man  may  think  by  the  song  of  the  place,  whither  he  shall  go, 
to  be  there  long;  so  that  he  may  not  forget  joy,  but  think  thereof  and 
attain  it,  and  may  perceive,  in  the  voice  of  the  church,  how  merry  is 
the  heavenly  bliss.  Clerks,  monks,  and  canons  rise  at  midnight  and 
sing  of  the  light  of  heaven,  and  priests  sing  in  the  country  when  the 
light  of  day  springs.  And  I  help  them  what  I  may,  I  sing  with  them 
night  and  day,  and  through  me  they  are  all  the  gladder,  and  the  readier 
for  song.  I  admonish  men  for  their  good,  that  they  be  blithe  in  their 
mood,  and  bid  them  that  they  may  seek  the  song  that  is  eternal,  i 

The  owl  responds  as  follows : 

Thou  sayest  that  thou  singest  to  mankind  and  teachest  them  to  tend 
to  the  song  that  lasts  forever.  It  is  the  greatest  of  all  wonders  that 
thou  darest  lie  so  openly.  Dost  thou  think  they  so  easily  come  into 
God's  kingdom,  all  singing?  No,  no,  they  will  feel  that  they  must 
get  forgiveness  of  their  sins  by  long  weeping,  before  they  may  ever 
come  there.  Therefore,  I  advise  that  men  be  ready,  and  more  weep 
than  sing  they  who  strive  for  the  preserce  of  the  Heavenly  King. 
There  is  no  man  without  sin.  For  this  he  must  repent  with  tears  and 
weeping,  ere  he  go  hence,  so  that  what  was  sweet  before  become 
sour   to   him.     I    help   him    in    that,    God   knows.     I    sing   him    no 

follies  ;  for  all  my  song  is  of  longing  and  mingled  with  whining 

If  right  goes  forth  and  wrong  goes  back — better  is  my  weeping  than 
all  thy  singing.* 

1  Ozvl  and  Nighlingale,  707-742.  The  passage  recalls  Alexander  Neckam,  De 
naturis  rerunt,  I.  c.  41,  (De  Phtlomena)  :  Quid  quod  noctes  tota  ducit  insomnes, 
dum  delicioso  garritui  pervigil  indulget?  Nonne  jam  vitam  claustralium  prae  oculis 
cordis  constituis,  nodes  cum  diebus  in  laudem  divinam  expendenlium? 

»  849-378. 


THE  OWL  AND  THE  NIGHTINGALE.  217 

Many  are  the  arguments  and  views  brought  forward  by 
the  two  opponents,  and  with  a  skill  and  acumen  reminding 
us  that  we  are  in  an  epoch  when  jurists  and  lawyers  quickly 
rose  to  great  influence,  wealth,  and  position,  a  time  when 
Bracton  wrote  his  book  on  the  laws  and  customs  of  Eng- 
land. Both  are  fond  of  popular  turns.  Many  proverbs  are 
brought  to  bear,  and  always  with  the  citation  of  Aelfred's 
authority;  though  the  pseudo-Aelfredian  collection  which 
we  have  offers  hardly  any  duplicate  passages.  Many  popu- 
lar traditions  (also  recorded,  it  is  true,  in  learned  works)  are 
either  mentioned  or  their  existence  assumed.  Interesting  is 
the  charge  made  by  the  owl  against  the  nightingale,  that  she 
has  seduced  the  wife  of  a  knight  to  adultery,  for  which  the 
husband  has  taken  bitter  revenge.  The  nightingale  responds 
that  she  has  only  consoled  a  wife  confined  by  a  jealous  hus- 
band, and  that,  for  the  wrong  done  her  (the  nightingale)  by 
the  knight.  King  Henry  has  given  her  glorious  satisfaction, 
God  be  merciful  to  his  soul.  The  narrative  in  Alexander 
Neckam  is  the  same,  if  we  except  the  punishment  of  the 
knight  by  the  king.^ 

The  disputants  naturally  reach  no  conclusion.  The  night- 
ingale finally  gathers  a  great  number  of  song-birds  about 
her,  and  they  adjudge  her  the  victory.  Their  jubilation 
irritates  the  owl  beyond  measure;  it  looks  as  if  the  dispu- 
tants are  about  to  pass  from  words  to  blows.  Then  the  wren 
reminds  them  of  the  king's  peace,  and  the  decision  made  at 
the  beginning,  to  let  "  Maister  Nichole  "  settle  the  dispute, 
is  reconsidered.  All  unite  in  his  praise.  The  manner  in 
which  his  virtues,  his  justice,  prudence,  and  wisdom  are 
dwelt  upon,  makes  it  impossible  to  regard  him  as  the  poet 
himself,  because  such  self-laudation  would  ill  agree  with 
those  qualities.  But  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  poet  could 
take  the  outlines  of  the  portrait  of  Master  Nicholas  from 
his  own  character,  and  that  he  depicts  himself  in  his  friend. 
Perhaps  the  passage  especially  applies  to  him,  according  to 
which  Master  Nicholas  had  formerly  been  dissolute,  and  had 
liked  the  nightingale  and  "other  gentle  and  small  creatures," 


•  De7taturis  rerum,  I.  c.  41 :  Sed  odedecus  !  quid  meruit  nobilis  volucrum  praecen- 
trix,  instar  Hippolyti  Thesidae  equis  diripi?  Miles  enim  quidam  nimis  zelotes 
philomenam  quatuor  equis  distrahi  praecepit,  eo  quod  secundum  ipsius  assertionera 
animum  uxoris  suae  nimis  demulcens,  earn  ad  illiciti  amoris  compulisset  illecebras. 


2lS  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

but  had  since  become  staid,  and  would  in  nowise  let  himself 
be  led  into  wrong  by  old  love.^ 

The  relations  of  the  poet  and  his  poem  to  the  political 
parties  and  events  of  his  time  will  perhaps  one  day  be  re- 
vealed. Mature  study  of  linguistic  and  literary  condi- 
tions leads  us  to  assign  the  poem  to  the  reign  of  Henry 
III.  (1216-1272);  however  discordant  with  this  theory  the 
fact  may  seem  that  Henry  II.  is  merely  designated  as 
"  King  Henri,  Jesus  his  soule  do  merci."^ 

In  this  connection,  the  question  rises,  whether  some  of 
the  religious  lyrics  considered  in  the  last  chapter  did  not 
come  from  the  hand  of  the  same  poet.  We  lack  materials 
for  a  decisive  answer.  But  few  of  the  songs  extant  could 
quite  correspond  to  the  personality  of  the  man  as  we  know 
him  from  the  Owl  atid  the  Nightingale.  He  certainly  had 
lyrical  talent.  His  smooth,  melodious  versification,  his  copi- 
ous and  redundant  language,  his  frequent  musical  repetition 
of  phrase  and  theme,  betoken  a  poet  who  well  knew  how  to 
make  a  strophic  song.  He  employs  the  short  couplet,  the 
metre  used  by  the  author  of  the  Elei^en  Pains  of  Hell ;  no 
one  has  constructed  it  better  than  he,  and  scarcely  any  before 
Gower  more  recjularlv. 

He  is  certainly  the  equal  of  the  best  l}Tists  of  the  epoch. 

In  his,  as  in  their  verse,  dwells  a  peculiar  charm.  This 
poetry  is  comparable  to  a  maiden  who  returns  to  the  pa- 
rental house  which  she  forsook  as  a  child.  Joyous  in  her 
foreign  training  and  experience,  she  nevertheless  thinks  of 
her  childhood  again,  and  unconsciously  practises  many  a 
former  habit,  many  a  long-forgotten  pastime.  So  the  Eng- 
lish muse,  having  scarcely  outgrown  the  Norman  school, 
returned  to  her  ancestral  home  and  contemplated  the  past. 

XV. 

When  we  perceive  extraordinär}'  intellectual  activity,  we 
inquire  into  its  causes.  What  conditions  led  to  the  rise  of 
English  literature  under  Henry  III.?  The  growth  of  national 
feeling  was  perhaps  the  most  essential  agency,  and  this  pre- 
supposes a  closing  of  the  gap  between  Norman  and  native. 

As  early  as  the  reign  of  Henry  II.  this  blending  process 

•  Ov'I  and  Nighiingalt,  202,etseg. 
*  Jiiiä.,  109 1,  et  seq. 


GkoWTH  OF  National  feeling.  2119 

had  gone  so  far  that  the  Dialogus  de  scaccario  ^  says  it  was 
well  nigh  impossible  to  distinguish  among  the  free-men,  the 
man  of  English  from  the  man  of  Norman  blood.  This  was, 
however,  in  great  part  a  passage  of  the  English  element  into 
the  Norman,  rather  than  the  reverse.  Though  many  spoke 
both  languages,  yet  the  use  of  Norman-French  remained  for 
a  long  time  a  sign  of  aristocratic  descent.  And  as  the  his- 
tory of  the  literature  attests,  the  fusion  cannot  have  gone  on 
equally  in  the  entire  extent  of  the  kingdom.  Hence  it  is 
well  to  interpret  with  care  the  words  of  the  author  of  the 
Dialogue. 

This  fusion  made  great  progress  during  the  reign  of  the 
sons  and  the  grandson  of  the  second  Henry. 

Normandy  was  lost  under  King  John,  and  the  immigrated 
aristocracy  of  England  was  cut  off  from  the  mother-country. 
The  separation  was  made  complete  by  a  measure  taken,  with 
the  same  political  motives,  by  Henry  HI.  and  Louis  IX. 
They  decreed  that  no  subject  of  one  crown  should  possess 
land  upon  the  territory  of  the  other. 

Disturbance  in  domestic  politics  also  had  its  influence. 
The  weakness  and  incapacity  of  Kings  John  and  Henry  HI. 
had  made  them  dependent  upon  South  French  favourites. 
This  roused  the  jealousy  of  the  haughty  Norman  barons,  as 
much  as  the  absolutist  tendencies  of  those  kings  provoked  to 
opposition  their  proud  sense  of  freedom.  In  the  struggle 
between  crown  and  aristocracy,  the  hatred  of  the  English 
race  for  absolutism,  its  abhorrence  of  the  audacious  acts  of 
the  Gascons,  made  it  a  natural  ally  of  the  aristocracy. 

The  necessity  of  securing  this  ally  was  clearly  seen,  under 
Henry  III.,  by  a  man  whose  South  French  birth  seemed  to 
predestine  him  for  a  member  of  the  court-party,  but  who 
became  the  leader  and  the  soul  of  the  popular  party,  and 
who,  almost  adored  during  his  lifetime,  was  revered  as  a 
martyr  after  his  death, — by  Simon  de  Montfort.  It  is  sig- 
nificant of  the  situation  of  affairs,  that  all  the  strictly  polit- 
ical literature  of  the  time  in  England,  both  in  Latin  and 
French,  sides  with  the  barons  against  the  king  and  the  court- 
party.  The  best  spirits  of  the  country  stood  for  the  cause  of 
freedom ;  the  pious  and  learned  bishop  of  Lincoln,  Robert 
Grosseteste,  and  the  famous  Franciscan,  Adam  of  Marsh  (de 

1  I.  10.  Stubbs's  Select  Charters,  p.  201,  et  seq. 


220  THE  TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

Marisco),  were  both  by  close  friendship  united  to  Simon  de 
Montfort. 

The  opposition  was  heightened  by  the  intervention  of  the 
papal  curia.  The  interests  of  Romish  politics  had  long  been 
hostile  to  the  English  crown,  but  in  those  days  they  seemed 
entirely  to  coincide  with  them.  This  complication  of  eccle- 
siastical and  secular  interests,  however,  only  made  the  papacy 
appear  to  the  most  ecclesiastically  disposed  Englishmen  as 
the  enemy  that  menaced  their  dearest  possessions. 

Political  tension  in  England  reached  its  utmost  in  the 
middle  of  the  thirteenth  century,  the  boundary  between  the 
literary  period  which  we  have  tried  to  sketch,  and  that  upon 
which  we  now  enter. 

The  poems  that  last  occupied  us  bloomed  in  the  ominous 
calm  that  precedes  a  tempest. 

Soon  after  the  middle  of  the  century,  in  1258,  the  storm 
broke.  Events  followed  in  quick  succession,  first  in  politics, 
and  then  in  war.  We  see  men  of  Norman  and  English 
blood  united  in  the  struggle  for  ancient  folk-rights ;  we  see 
the  beginnings  of  the  modem  English  constitution  forming 
from  the  Old  English  constitution,  whose  spirit  still  breathed 
in  the  Norman  feudal  state ;  and  by  the  side  of  the  Upper 
House,  we  already  discern  the  outlines  of  the  House  of 
Commons. 

English  speech  attained,  amid  this  commotion,  an  im- 
portance that  raised  it,  at  least  for  a  time,  to  the  dignity  of 
a  language  of  state  and  government.  On  the  iSth  of  Octo- 
ber, 1258,  King  Henry,  under  the  influence  of  ministers  and 
councillors  imposed  upon  him  by  the  barons,  issued  a  proc- 
lamation "to  all  his  faithful,  learned  and  laymen";  this  was 
published  simultaneously  in  the  French  and  English  lan- 
guages. A  French  copy  of  general  import  is  preseived  :  of 
the  English  version,  the  copies  destined  for  the  counties  of 
Huntingdon  and  Oxford  have  reached  us. 

All  documents  written  after  this  time  down  to  Richard  HI. 
seem  to  have  been  composed  exclusively  in  Latin  or  French, 
the  French  gradually  gaining  the  precedence.  But  this 
makes  the  exceptional  phenomenon  of  the  year  1258  all  the 
more  significant,  since  it  shows  to  what  importance  the  Eng- 
lish element  had  even  then  risen. 

The  growth  of  the  national  literature  was  as  little  retarded 


POLITICAL  AND  COMMERCIAL  PROGRESS.  221 

by  the  continued  use  of  foreign  languages  in  official  docu- 
ments and  political  affairs,  as  was  the  steady,  though  slow, 
progress  of  the  English  constitution  arrested  by  violent  and 
prolonged  reactions.  The  wealth  of  the  nation  increased 
with  the  growth  of  freedom ;  indeed,  the  former  was  a  con- 
dition of  the  latter.  The  great  cities,  where  commerce  and 
industry  flourished,  became  the  centres  of  political  progress, 
the  schools  in  which  the  nation  learned  self-government. 
London  was  no  less  conspicuous  for  its  wealth  than  for  the 
free  spirit  of  its  citizens.  Trade  grew  enormously.  Aided 
by  the  expanding  scope  of  navigation,  it  came  to  include  all 
European  coasts  in  its  range.  Stirring  life  prevailed  at  the 
harbours ;  strange  costumes  and  languages,  foreign  products, 
costly  stufls,  aroused  the  interest  and  admiration  of  the 
countryman  visiting  the  neighbouring  port.  But  what,  per- 
haps, most  moved  his  wonder,  was  the  wealth  and  luxury  of 
the  burghers,  who  began  gradually  to  emulate  the  gentle- 
folk in  dress  and  mode  of  life,  who  liked  to  be  called  sire, 
and  were  wont  to  intersperse  their  speech  with  French  words. 


BOOK  III. 

FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY, 


Noch  einmal  sattelt  mir  den  Hippogryphen,  ihr  Musen, 
Zum  Ritt  in's  alte  romantische  Land. 

Wieland. 


Times  of  great  political  excitement,  especially  times  of 
civil  war,  are  wont  to  leave  their  stamp  on  language.  In 
the  reign  of  Henry  III.,  English,  with  the  exception  of 
the  southeastern  dialect,  cast  off  the  marks  peculiar  to  the 
transition  from  the  ancient  to  the  middle  age.  An  impor- 
tant revolution  took  place  in  the  vocabulary ;  foreign  ele- 
ments, or  new  formations  and  new  appHcation  of  native 
material  crowded  out  much  of  the  old  stock.  In  syntax, 
new  losses  of  inflection  were  finally  brought  about  by  the 
intrusion  of  a  simpler,  more  logical  arrangement  of  words. 
These  changes  went  hand  in  hand  with  the  increasing  im- 
portance of  English  as  a  language  of  daily  intercourse  and 
of  literature.  Gradually  as  the  Anglo-Norman  lost  its  purity, 
together  with  its  dominant  position,  it  yielded  more  and  more 
of  its  own  wealth  to  the  English.  It  was  long,  however, 
before  the  spirit  of  the  English  completely  permeated  the 
foreign  matter,  and  became  assimilated  with  it.  Many 
agencies  seemed  to  bring  Englishman  and  Norman  into 
contact ;  such  as  the  growing  needs  of  life  in  business  and  in 
family  intercourse  ;  the  sway  of  fashion  in  dress ;  court  life 
and  chivalry,  to  which  France  still  gave  the  tone;  new  dis- 
coveries and  methods  in  the  industrial  and  fine  arts;  the 
clergy;  the  itinerant  monks  ;  the  cosmopolitan  orders.  Of 
the  latter,  the  Franciscans  were  especially  notable;  they 
came,  in  the  beginning  at  least,  into  closest  contact  with  the 
poor  of  the  larger  cities.  A  great  part  in  this  intercourse  v/as 
also  taken  by  the  disours^  harpotirs,  gestours,  or  as  they 
were  called  in  pure  English  "  seggers  "  and  "  glee-men."  It 
was  they  who  made  the  French  romantic  literature,  translated 
either  by  themselves  or  by  others,  accessible  to  the  English 
people.     The  circle  of  their  audience  grew  wider  from  year 

p  225 


220  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

to  year.  The  highest  spheres  of  society  still  much  preferred 
French  to  English  poetry.  But  there  were  the  rich  bur- 
gess, the  comfortable  freeholder,  the  knight  with  his  squires 
and  his  yeomen,  perhaps  also  many  a  one  of  higher  degree ; 
and  finally,  if  the  minstrel  was  not  fastidious,  a  great  throng 
of  meaner  folk  in  town  and  country  were  eager  to  hear  him. 

Epic  poetry  again  came  into  literature  at  about  the  mid- 
dle of  the  thirteenth  century. 

By  that  time  its  florescence  in  France  v/as  already  past. 
The  various  forms  and  species  of  the  epic  there  had  followed 
each  other  in  rapid  succession  :  the  national  epos  and  the 
rhapsody  of  the  jongleur,  the  chivalric  court-romance,  the 
cycles  of  the  antique  and  the  Breton  world,  the  national 
epopee  of  the  trouveres.  Nearly  all  these  materials  and 
forms  still  lived  in  oral  tradition,  or  in  literature,  but  the 
sinews  of  production  were  paralysed.  During  the  last  half 
of  the  century,  in  the  extreme  north  of  the  range  of  the 
French  language,  chivalric  poetry  once  more  revived  in  the 
works  of  an  Adenet;  but  the  virtuosity  in  rhyme-making, 
carried  to  excess  in  his  works,  and  joined  with  great  senti- 
mentality and  a  perceptible  lack  of  creative  power,  clearly  re- 
veals the  features  of  epigonic  poetry.  A  new  spirit  had 
awakened  in  France,  the  spirit  of  satire  and  denial  of  the 
mediaeval  view  of  life.  This  had  created  an  epic  art-form, 
which  had  grown  from  the  plan  of  the  court-romance  by  the 
saturation  of  the  latter  with  antique  reminiscences  and 
themes.  Jehan  de  Meun,  the  Rabelais  of  his  time,  wrote, 
during  the  latter  part  of  St.  Louis's  reign,  his  cynical  contin- 
uation of  the  Romance  of  the  Rose,  commenced,  in  the  spirit 
of  a  mediaeval  Ovid,  by  Guillaume  de  Lorris,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  century. 

In  England,  the  time  of  conflict  with  the  Middle  Ages  had 
not  yet  arrived.  JNIediseval  romanticism  had  yet  to  win  a 
place  in  the  national  literature.  But  culture  developed  there 
on  a  broader  civil  basis.  The  burgher  element  was  predom- 
inant in  that  society,  whose  attention  the  singers  of  chivalric 
poetry  had  first  to  gain.  And  when  the  opposition  between 
races  and  tongues  had  disappeared  in  the  nation,  it  was 
plainly  shown  how  much  more  easily  the  barrier  separating 
the  aristocracy  from  the  commonalty  could  be  surmounted, 
and  how  much  less  reason  the  classes  had  for  mutual  enmity 


LEGEND  OF  KING  HORN.  227 

than  in  France.  The  old  element  and  the  new  were  more 
congenial  in  England  than  elsewhere,  because  the  old  was 
really  old  and  was  permeated  by  the  Teutonic  spirit. 

The  time  of  the  EngUsh  folk-epos  had  long  gone;  its  last 
echoing  sounds  were  silent.  A  certain  substitute  was  found 
in  new  popular  sagas  and  songs,  as  those  of  Ho7'ii  and  of 
Havelok^  which  were  probably  written  down  towards  the  be- 
ginning of  the  period. 

King  Morn  is  preserved  in  a  form  plainly  recalling  the 
musical  recital  with  which  it  had  once  been  presented,  and 
it  is  not  the  words  of  the  poem  alone  that  prove  it  to  be  a 
song: 

Be  of  good  cheer,  all  who  listen  to  my  singing. 
A  song  I  will  sing  you  of  Murry  •  the  king.^ 

There  is  an  unmistakably  strophic  construction  in  the  text 
as  we  have  it,  though  the  division  is  unequal,  and  many  pas- 
sages of  the  poem  have  a  thoroughly  musical  charm.  The 
elementary  unit  of  the  strophe,  as  it  here  appears,  the  short 
couplet,  is  formed  entirely  on  the  Teutonic  principle,  with 
two  accents  upon  the  sonorous  close  of  the  verse,  so  that  it 
appears  to  be  an  organic  continuation  of  the  chief  form  in 
La^amon  and  in  Aelfred's  Proverbs.  This  circumstance 
makes  the  poem  exceptional  among  the  early  English  ro- 
mances. 

The  Song  of  Horn  must  be  counted  as  a  metrical  romance, 
in  view  of  its  contents,  its  structure,  its  dress,  and  mounting. 
The  age  of  romantic  chivalry  distinctly  left  its  impress  upon 
the  material  derived  from  an  obscure  transition  period. 

Horn  is  the  son  of  King  Murry,  or  AUof,  of  South  Dane- 
land  and  of  Queen  Godhild.  He  excels  all  the  children  of 
men  in  beauty.  Twelve  noble  youths  are  given  him  as 
companions,  and  among  them  are  two  whom  he  loves  better 
than  all  others :  Athulf,  the  best  of  all,  and  the  traitor,  Fik- 
enhild. 

On  a  summer's  day  the  king  rides,  as  usual,  along  the 
strand,  when  he  perceives  that  fifteen  ships  have  landed  there, 

1  Muny,  according  to  another  reading,  Allof,  the  father  of  Horn. 
2  Alle  beon  he  blithe 
That  to  my  song  lythe : 
A  sang  ihc  schal  you  singe 
Of  Murry  the  kinge.     King  Horn,  1-4,. 
We  use  the  text  of  Mätzner's  Sprachproben,  but  take  the  libertj'  of  replacing  ancient 
characters  by  more  modern  ones, 


228  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

manned  by  Saracens.  A  contest  ensues ;  Murry  falls,  with 
the  two  knights  who  accompanied  him.  The  pagans  swarm 
into  the  country,  destroy  the  churches,  and  massacre  all  who 
refuse  to  abjure  their  faith.  Godhild  escapes  their  rage  by 
hiding  in  a  cave.  Horn's  beauty  so  touches  the  pagan  king 
that  he  does  not  suffer  him  to  die  by  the  sword,  but,  with  his 
twelve  companions,  sets  him  adrift  at  the  mercy  of  the  wind 
and  the  waves. 

The  sea  began  to  flow  and  Horn  child  to  row,  the  sea  drove  the 
ship  so  fast  that  the  children  were  afraid.  They  saw  a  sure  fate  before 
them  all  day  and  all  night,  till  the  daylight  sprang,  till  Horn  upon  the 
strand  saw  men  walking  on  the  land.  "Comrades,"  bespoke, 
"youths,  I  will  tell  you  tidings.  I  hear  birds  sing  and  see  the  grass 
spring.  Let  us  be  blithe  in  life,  our  ship  is  on  shore."  They  left  the 
ship  and  set  foot  on  the  ground.  At  the  sea-side  they  let  that  ship  ride. 
Then  spake  child  Horn — in  South  Daneland  was  he  born:  "Ship  in 
the  flood,  have  thou  good  days.  At  the  brink  of  the  sea,  let  no  waters 
drown  thee.  If  thou  comest  to  South  Daneland,  greet  well  my  kin, 
greet  thou  well  my  mother  Godhild,  the  good  queen,  and  say  to  the 
heathen  king,  the  opposer  of  Jesus  Christ,  that  I  am  whole  and  hale, 
arrived  in  this  land,  and  say  that  he  shall  feel  the  stroke  of  my  hand."  ^ 

The  youths  meet  the  king,  Ailmar  of  Westernesse,  who 
receives  them  with  kindness  and  addresses  Horn  thus : 
*'  Enjoy  thou  well  thy  name,  Horn,  sound  loud  over  hill  and 
dale,  resound  over  valley  and  down.  So  shall  thy  name 
spring  from  king  to  king,  and  thy  beauty  through  all  Wes- 
ternesse, the  strength  of  thy  hand  through  every  land."  Ail- 
mar delivers  Horn  to  his  steward  Athelbrus,  to  be  educated. 
He  is  to  be  taught  to  hunt  and  to  fish,  to  play  the  harp,  to 
carve,  and  to  serve  the  cup  before  the  king.     Horn  grows 

1  The  se  bigan  to  flowe,  Bi  the  se  side 

And  Horn  child  to  rowe,  Hi  leten  that  schup  ride. 

The  se  that  schup  so  faste  drof,  Thanne  spak  him  child  Horn, 

The  children  dradde  therof.  In  Suddene  he  was  ibom: 

Hi  wenden  to  vasse  "Schup,  bi  the  se  flode 

Of  here  lif  to  misse,  Daies  haue  thu  gode: 

Al  the  day  and  al  the  night,  Bi  the  se  brinke 

Til  hit  (hem?)  sprang  day  light,  Ko  water  the  nadrinke  : 

Til  Horn  sagh  on  the  stronde  Yef  thu  cume  to  Suddene, 

Men  gon  in  the  londe.  Gret  thu  wel  of  myne  kenne, 

"  Feren,"  quath  he,  "  yonge,]  Gret  thu  wel  my  moder, 

Ihc  telle  you  tithinge,  Godhild  quen  the  gode, 

Ihc  here  fogheles  singe.  And  seie  the  paene  kyng, 

And  se  that  gras  him  springe.  Jesu  Cristes  witherling, 

Blithe  beo  we  on  lyue,  That  ich  am  hoi  and  fer 

Ure  schup  is  on  r>-ue."  On  this  lond  ariued  her: 

Of  schup  hi  gunne  funde,  And  seie  that  he  schal  fonde 

And  selten  fot  to  gründe,  The  dent  of  myne  honde." 

V.  117-152. 


KING  HORN. 


229 


tall  under  the  care  of  Athelbrus,  and  gains  the  love  of  all  at 
the  court  and  outside  of  it,  but  most  of  all  he  is  loved  by 
Rymenhild,  the  king's  daughter.  Very  desirous  to  speak  to 
the  youth  alone,  she  feigns  sickness  and  commands  Athelbrus 
to  come  into  her  chamber  with  Horn.  This  command  puts 
Athelbrus  into  great  embarrassment.  He  neither  dares  to 
obey  nor  to  disobey.  He  therefore  makes  a  compromise, 
and  brings  Athulf  instead  of  Horn.  Rymenhild,  deceived 
in  the  subdued  light  of  her  chamber,  loads  Athulf  with  ca- 
resses, until  he  makes  clear  her  mistake.  All  her  anger  is 
now  directed  against  Athelbrus,  who  can  only  avert  the 
storm  by  promising  to  send  Horn  to  her.  Horn  betakes 
himself  to  Rymenhild,  and  kneels  before  her ;  the  apartment 
is  illumined  by  his  beauty.  A  tender  scene  follows,  in  which 
the  maid  sues  for  the  love  of  the  youth.  But  Horn  declares 
himself  unworthy  to  woo  the  king's  daughter.  There  is  only 
one  thing  that  can  make  him  worthy  of  her;  she  must  help 
him  to  become  a  knight.  They  resolve  to  work  for  this  ob- 
ject through  the  intercession  of  Athelbrus  with  the  king. 
The  plan  succeeds.  Ailmar  makes  Horn  a  knight,  where- 
upon the  latter  gives  the  accolade  to  his  twelve  comrades, 
Rymenhild,  with  rejoicing,  now  receives  her  lover,  who, 
adorned  with  his  new  dignity,  steps  into  the  room  with 
Athulf.  But  Horn  has  come  only  to  bid  her  farewell.  Be- 
fore he  makes  her  his  wife,  he  wishes  to  deserve  her  by 
knightly  deeds.     Rymenhild  resigns  herself  to  her  fate. 

"  Knight,"  spoke  she,  "  faithful  one,  I  ween  I  can  believe 
thee;  take  thou  this  golden  ring.  Good  is  its  adornment, 
upon  the  ring  is  graved,  '  Rymenhild  the  young;'  there  is 

no  better  one  under  the  sun Wear  it  for  my  love,  and 

bear  it  on  thy  finger.  The  stones  thereupon  have  such  vir- 
tue that  thou  wilt  dread  no  blow  in  any  place,  neither  wilt 
thou  be  dismayed  in  battle  when  thou  lookest  upon  it  and 
thinkest  of  thy  beloved.  And  Sir  Athulf,  thy  brother,  shall 
have  another.  Horn,  I  beseech  with  loving  speech  that 
Christ  give  good  intercession  for  us,  and  bring  thee  back 
again."  ^ 

The  new  knight  has  immediate  occasion  to  test  the  magic 
power  of  the  ring.  He  owes  to  it  a  glorious  victory  over  a 
horde  of  Saracens  just  landed,  and  expecting  to  conquer  the 

«  V.  561-582. 


230  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECV . 

realm  of  Ailmar.  After  he  has  vanquished  the  enemy,  he 
carries  into  Ailmar's  hall,  on  the  point  of  his  sword,  the  head 
of  their  leader.  Thus  fate  seems  to  favour  the  lovers ;  but  an 
anxious  dream  fills  the  heart  of  Rymenhild  with  sad  fore- 
bodings, only  too  soon  to  be  fulfilled.  Fikenhild  reveals  to 
the  king  the  secret  his  jealousy  has  discovered.  Ailmar  sur- 
prises the  youth  in  the  arms  of  Rymenhild,  and  A\TathfulIy 
banishes  him  from  the  kingdom.  The  parting  of  the  lovers 
is  very  mournful :  "  Darling  love,"  says  Horn,  "  now  is  thy 
dream  fulfilled.  .  .  .  Farewell,  Rymenhild,  longer  I  dare 
not  stay.  I  go  to  a  strange  country,  and  shall  dwell  there 
full  seven  years.  If  I  come  not  again  at  the  end  of  seven 
years,  or  send  thee  no  message,  take  a  husband  and  wait  no 
longer  for  me.  Fold  me  into  thine  arms,  and  kiss  me  long." 
The  seven  years  of  banishment  are  filled  with  adventures 
and  deeds  of  heroism,  over  which  we  will  not  linger.  The 
period  nears  its  close,  and  Rymenhild  lives  in  great  anxiety. 
A  mighty  king,  Modi  of  Reynes,  sues  for  her  hand;  the  day 
of  the  wedding  is  fixed  by  him  and  Ailmar.  In  her  trouble, 
Rymenhild  sends  out  a  messenger  for  Horn,  who  at  last 
finds  him  in  Ireland,  where,  by  the  name  of  Cutberd,  he 
lives  at  the  court  of  King  Thurston.  Horn  now  hastens  to 
Westernesse,  accompanied  by  Irish  knights.  When  they  have 
landed,  he  leaves  his  followers  behind  and  proceeds  alone. 
He  hears  from  a  pilgrim  that  the  wedding  has  already  taken 
place.  He  changes  clothes  with  the  pilgrim,  and  betakes 
himself  to  the  castle  where  Rymenhild  dwells,  not  having 
yet  become  the  \vife  of  Modi.  He  enters  with  great  diffi- 
culty. The  scene  of  recognition  is  dramatically  portrayed. 
The  rest  may  be  imagined.  Rymenhild  is  rescued  from 
Modi  and  espoused  by  Horn. 

But  the  story  is  not  finished.  Horn  is  impelled  to  leave 
his  young  wife's  arms,  and  to  go  to  his  home.  He  wishes  to 
avenge  his  father's  death  and  to  regain  South  Daneland. 
By  the  help  of  his  Irish  warriors  and  the  faithful  Athulf,  he 
accomplishes  this.  He  has  even  the  unexpected  joy  of  find- 
ing still  alive  his  mother,  who  has  all  this  time  lived  hidden 
in  a  cave. 

In  the  mean  time  a  new  danger  threatens  Rymenhild. 
The  theme  of  the  Modi-episode  is  repeated.  This  time  it  is 
the  traitor  Fikenhild  who  has  succeeded  in  gaining  a  great 


KING  HORN.  23, 

following  in  Westernesse,  and  who  has  built  a  strong  castle 
in  the  sea.  Thither  he  carries  by  force  the  wailing  Rymen- 
hild,  and  tries  to  compel  her  to  be  his  wife.  But,  warned 
by  a  dream,  Horn  returns  at  the  decisive  moment.  His 
ship  lies  at  anchor  at  the  foot  of  the  tower  containing  Ry- 
menhild's  chamber.  The  castle  and  its  inhabitants  are  un- 
known to  Horn.  He  is  informed  of  the  state  of  things  by 
a  nephew  of  Athulf,  Arnoldin.  Quickly  resolved,  he  and 
several  of  his  companions  disguise  themselves,  and, 

They  stepped  over  the  gravel  to  the  castle.  They  began  merrily  to 
sing  and  to  play.  Rymenhild  heard  it,  and  asked  who  they  were. 
They  answered  that  they  were  harpers,  and  some  of  them  fiddlers. 
They  let  Horn  in  at  the  portal  of  the  hall.  He  seated  himself  upon 
the  bench,  and  began  to  play  the  harp.  He  sang  before  Rymenhild, 
and  she  answered  with  wailings.  Rymenhild  fell  in  a  swoon;  none 
laughed  then.  Bitter  pain  smote  Horn's  heart.  He  looked  upon  his 
ring,  and  thought  of  Rymenhild ;  he  stepped  to  the  board,  and  with 
the  edge  of  his  good  sword,  he  struck  off  Fikenhild's  head,  and  he 
overthrew  all  his  warriors,  one  after  another.  When  they  were  killed, 
he  caused  Fikenhild  to  be  torn  in  pieces.» 

Now  are  rewarded  the  faithful  followers,  for  whom  suffi- 
cient crowns  are  at  command.  Horn  himself  returns  to 
South  Daneland  and  makes  Rymenhild  his  queen. 

It  is  plain  that  this  is  a  roman  d^avcntiires,  which,  however, 
does  not  behe  its  pecuhar  origin.  Many  a  trait  in  King 
Horn  recalls  a  time  anterior  to  the  Conquest.  Indeed,  the 
subject-matter,  taken  as  a  whole,  points  to  an  epoch  when 
the  Danish  piracies  were  at  their  height ;  and  why  should 
the  germ  of  the  saga  not  be  more  ancient  still  ?  But  the 
primitive  relations  had,  in  the  lapse  of  time,  all  been  oblit- 
erated. The  sea-robbers  became  Saracens  in  the  age  of  the 
crusades ;  new  traditions  were  added  to  more  ancient  legends, 
and  the  ethnology  as  well  as  the  geography  of  the  poem 
grew  inextricably  involved.  So  much  is  clear:  the  North 
Sea  and  its  neighbouring  waters,  and  their  shores,  were  the 
scene  of  the  action. 

The  influence  of  the  age  of  chivalric  poetry  upon  man- 
ners and  culture  is  unmistakable.  Considerable  space  is 
devoted  to  a  tender  love-story,  which,  indeed,  forms  the 
nucleus  of  the  fable.  The  code  of  gallantry,  however, 
seems  to  be  but  little  developed,  and  of  the  lovers,  it  is  the 
maid  who  languishes  and  woos. 

1  V.  1465-1492. 


232  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

The  narrative  of  Horn,  a  prince  glowing  in  beauty  and 
knightly  virtue,  seems,  finally,  to  be  the  product  of  a  society 
not  yet  quite  at  the  height  of  courtly  refinement,  but  still 
influenced  by  more  modern  culture,  and  containing  aristo- 
cratic elements.  Perhaps  we  may  seek  the  home  of  the 
English  song  in  the  southern  part  of  the  country.  It  is 
hardly  by  chance  that  the  dialect  of  the  most  ancient  edi- 
tion points  to  the  region  of  Essex. 

The  story  of  Havelok  tho.  Dane  takes  us  to  a  more  north  - 
ern  region.  Both  saga  and  poem  may  have  originated  in  a 
Danish  colony  in  Lincolnshire.  Unlike  King  Honi,  Have- 
lok has  not  come  to  us  as  a  song.  The  text  before  us  pre- 
supposes non-musical  delivery  by  a  segge?%  who,  in  more  than 
one  place,  addresses  his  audience  in  his  own  behalf  Like 
the  Anglo-Norman  Lai  de  Havelok,  the  English  poem  is 
composed  of  couplets  not  arranged  in  strophes  of  the  kind 
occurring  in  the  Owl  a?id  the  Nightingale,  but,  like  that  lai, 
it  may  rest  on  more  ancient  songs. 

The  story  of  Havelok  and  Goldburgh  (Goldeboru),  in 
many  ways  recalls  that  of  Horn  and  Rymenhild,  but  the 
points  of  difference  are  significant. 

The  story  of  the  hero  and  the  heroine  is  parallel  up  to  the 
point  where  they  are  brought  together.  Goldburgh  is  the 
daughter  of  the  good  and  just  English  king  Athelwold; 
Havelok  is  the  son  of  the  king  Birkabeyn  of  Denmark.  Be- 
fore his  death,  Athelwold  gives  his  kingdom  and  daughter, 
in  trust,  to  the  count  of  Cornwall,  Godrich,  with  the  com- 
mission to  marry  Goldburgh  to  the  most  beautiful  and  strong- 
est man  he  can  find.  Birkabeyn  likewise  puts  Havelok  and 
his  two  sisters  into  the  care  of  the  Count  Godard.  Godrich 
and  Godard  are  both  black  traitors,  who  try  to  become 
masters  of  the  kingdoms  entrusted  to  their  guardianship. 
Godrich  holds  Goldburgh  captive  at  Dover ;  Godard  kills  the 
two  girls  with  his  own  hand,  and  commits  Havelok  to  Grim, 
a  fisherman,  with  the  command  to  throw  him  into  the  sea. 
Of  course,  Grim  does  not  fulfil  this  behest.  A  marvellous 
light  that  surrounds  the  sleeping  boy  teaches  Grim  that  he 
has  before  him  the  true  heir  to  the  Danish  crown.  The 
fisherman  prepares  a  ship,  which  he  boards  with  his  wife 
and  children — three  sons  and  two  daughters — and  puts  to 
sea  with  the  prince.     They  land  at  the  mouth  of  the  Hum- 


POEM  OF  HAVELOK  THE  DANE.  233 

ber,  at  a  place  still  bearing  Grim's  name,  Grimsby.  Here 
the  fisherman  follows  his  old  calling.  The  breaking  out  of 
a  famine  causes  Havelok,  who  has  meanwhile  grown  to 
manhood,  to  leave  his  poor  foster-father  in  order  to  provide 
for  himself.  He  wanders  to  Lincoln,  where  he  is  taken  into 
service  by  the  cook  of  the  count  of  Cornwall.  The  prince 
gains  a  certain  popularity  in  his  narrow  circle,  on  account  of 
his  tremendous  bodily  strength  and  his  good-nature.  He 
soon  finds  opportunity  to  appear  upon  a  larger  stage.  At  a 
festival  he,  by  the  cook's  command,  takes  part  in  the  games, 
and  throws  the  stone  farther  than  any  one  else.  The  renown 
of  his  strength  comes  to  the  ears  of  Godrich,  who,  with  bit- 
ter irony,  affects  to  find  in  him  the  man  who  is  to  marry 
Goldburgh.  Havelok  is  certainly  the  strongest  of  all.  By 
this  marriage,  Goldburgh  will  be  degraded  and  forever  ex- 
cluded from  the  throne.  Godrich  carries  out  his  purpose, 
against  the  will  of  the  two  concerned.  The  marriage  is 
concluded.  But  with  the  help  of  a  vision,  Goldburgh  soon 
recognises  Havelok's  kingly  descent  by  the  marvellous  light 
which  proceeds  from  his  mouth,  as  well  as  by  a  red  cross  on  his 
shoulder.  It  may  already  be  foreseen  by  what  stages  the 
story  is  carried  to  a  happy  ending.  The  scene  is  transferred 
to  Denmark.  A  faithful  vassal  is  not  wanting  there,  the 
good  Count  Ubbe,  who  knows  the  prince  by  his  token,  and 
helps  him  collect  followers  to  overthrow  and  punish  Godard. 
The  story  then  follows  the  Danish  troops  to  England,  where 
it  closes  with  the  conquest  and  punishment  of  Godrich,  and 
the  recompense  of  faithful  servants.  Reward  and  punish- 
ment are  dealt  out  with  no  sparing  hand.  Godard  is  flayed, 
dragged  at  the  tail  of  an  old  mare  over  rough  ground  to  the 
gallows,  and  hanged.  Godrich  dies  by  fire.  Grim's  daugh- 
ters— the  father  having  long  since  died — are  married  to 
counts,  among  them  a  newly-fledged  count  of  Cornwall  in 
the  person  of  the  cook  Bertram,  Havelok's  former  master. 
The  good  Danish  Count  Ubbe  receives  Denmark  in  fief 
from  Havelok.  Havelok  himself  is  crowned  at  London 
with  Goldburgh,  and  they  live  and  reign  happily  for  sixty 
years.  Their  marriage  is  blessed  by  fifteen  children,  who 
all  become  kings  or  queens. 

In  Havelok  we  have  firm  geographical  soil  to  stand  upon  ; 
but,  as  in  King  Jlorti,  the  bridge  is  lacking  to  connect  the 


234  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

personages  and  events  of  the  fable  with  history,  or  with  the 
ancient  saga, — at  least,  a  bridge  upon  which  we  may  trust 
ourselves.  Traces  of  the  ancient  relations  between  Den- 
mark and  England  are  plainly  discernible.  The  story,  whose 
memory  is  still  preserved  in  the  seal  of  Grimsby  city,  may 
have  arisen  among  Danish  settlers  in  Lincolnshire — who 
can  say  from  what  elements  ?  It  would  be  hard  to  decide 
how  old  it  is,  but  it  was  probably  not  completed  until  after 
the  time  of  Cnut  the  Great.  At  the  end  of  the  tale,  Den- 
mark and  England  are  at  peace,  and  a  Danish  king  rules 
over  England. 

The  opinion  is  evident  throughout  the  poem  that  educa- 
tion and  manners  are  on  a  lower  plane  in  Denmark  than  in 
England.  Public  insecurity  in  Havelok's  country  is  remark- 
ably great.  Quite  irrelevantly  to  the  story,  not  less  than 
sixty  thieves  break  into  the  house  of  Bernard  Brown,  where 
Havelok  and  Goldburgh  sleep,  and  Count  Ubbe  sees  no 
other  way  of  guarding  the  English  guests  from  further  at- 
tacks than  by  taking  them  into  his  own  castle  and  carefully 
watching  over  them. 

The  whole  poem  of  Havelok  presupposes  but  little  social 
refinement.  It  differs  from  Kmg  Morn  by  its  blunt,  almost 
rude,  popular  tone.  The  good-natured  giant  Havelok,  who, 
though  a  king's  son,  performs  menial  services,  presents  an 
ideal  w^hich  must  have  powerfully  attracted  a  subjugated 
Teutonic  population,  and  in  whose  portrayal  many  a  trait 
may  have  been  added  from  the  life  of  English  outlaws.  The 
diction  of  the  poem  of  Havelok  also  shows  that  it  appealed 
to  a  class  of  less  gentihty. 

II. 

The  more  truly  literary  work  of  translating  and  work- 
ing Over  French  and  Anglo-Norman  romances  began  as 
early  as  the  reign  of  Henry  III.  Under  Edward  I.  and 
his  successor  this  new  branch  of  literature  took  a  quick  im- 
petus; production  grew  to  an  incredible  extent.  It  was  as 
if  the  full  cornucopia  of  romantic  poesy  had  been  shaken 
out  over  the  English  people.  As  from  a  cornucopia  every- 
thing streams  in  motley  disorder,  so  the  English  seized  at 
random  the  rich  treasures  of  French  poetry,  bringing  forth 


IMITATION  OF  FRENCH  ROMANCES.  235 

what  was  valuable  or  worthless,  ancient  or  modern,  popular 
or  courtly,  in  order  to  adapt  it  for  the  home  public.  No  or- 
ganic relation  between  form  and  matter,  such  as  we  find  in 
the  French  epic,  existed  in  these  English  imitations.  The 
chanson  de  geste  was  not  handled  differently  from  the  roman 
d^avenfures,  nor  the  romance  of  Alexander  otherwise  than 
the  romances  of  the  Arthurian  cycle.  The  only  question 
considered  was  that  of  the  interest,  or  romantic  nature  of 
the  material.  In  other  respects  the  imitator  followed  his 
model  as  closely  as  he  could,  save  in  the  alterations  and  ad- 
ditions made  out  of  regard  for  the  taste  of  his  auditors. 

The  poet  did  not  always  recite  his  own  work.  Frequently 
he  was  a  cleric  and  gave  his  poem  to  some  segger,  who  made 
his  fortune  from  it.  With  favourite  subjects,  competition 
sometimes  called  forth  more  than  one  version.  Parts  of 
different  renderings  were  welded  together  by  necessity  or 
accident.  The  segger  himself  oftentimes  felt  the  throbbing 
of  a  poetic  vein,  and  even  when  possessing  little  talent,  he 
understood  somewhat  the  technique  of  form,  and  was  able, 
in  an  emergency,  to  help  himself  out  with  a  fixed  formula. 
At  all  events  he  knew  his  public,  and  had  learned  by  long 
experience  what  was  pleasing  and  what  was  not.  Hence  he 
omitted  passages  nivolving  finer  shading  of  analysis  in  con- 
cession to  a  coarser  taste,  and  lingered  with  stronger  empha- 
sis on  those  parts  where  he  was  sure  of  his  effect.  Mutila- 
tions were  still  more  frequently  owing  to  weakness  of  mem- 
ory and  misconception.  In  the  mouth  of  the  seggers,  there- 
fore, the  form  of  these  poems  diverged  ever  more  from  that 
of  the  original  text.  Industrious  monks  completed  their 
manuscripts  from  the  text-books  of  the  minstrels,  and  these 
products  came  to  posterity  on  parchment  or  paper,  in  beauti- 
ful, or  in  ugly  characters,  with  or  without  miniatures  and 
arabesques,  more  or  less  disfigured,  but  rarely  in  their  original 
form.  Many  became  the  prey  of  mice  or  fire.  In  such 
cases  we  can  count  ourselves  fortunate  if  their  contents  were 
saved  from  utter  ruin  by  some  old  printer,  a  Wynkin  de 
Worde  or  a  Copland. 

The  task  of  the  historian  of  literature  is  thus  rendered 
much  more  difficult ;  although  it  gains  in  interest.  We  see 
from  this  general  history  of  the  Middle  English  romance 
how  national  and  popular  characteristics  could  manifest 


236  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

themselves  in  such  poetical  imitations.  Their  fortunes  also 
involve  a  portion  of  English  history,  and  in  them  is  uttered 
the  English  spirit,  even  though  it  seem  to  "speak  with 
tongues."  And  clear  hnes,  separating  groups,  may  after  all 
be  distinguished  in  the  many-sided  diversity  proceeding  from 
the  peculiar  material,  from  the  individuality  of  poet,  segger, 
landscape,  epoch,  and  the  level  of  culture  of  the  respective 
auditors.  The  whole  gradually  acquires  a  definite  physi- 
ognomy. A  painter  to  delineate  it  is  still  wanting.  May  he 
not  delay  too  long. 

In  the  reign  of  Henry  III.  a  poet,  apparently  belonging 
to  the  South,  translated  a  romance  of  Floire  et  Bla7ichcflor, 
The  story  of  this  charming  poem  was  probably  derived  from 
late  Greek  and  oriental  sources,  and  may  have  come  to 
France  during  the  crusades.  It  had  been  rendered  into 
French  verse  according  to  the  courtly  style  more  than  once 
after  the  middle  of  the  twelfth  century. 

It  is  a  story  of  ardent  true-love,  whose  "labour  is  won." 
Having  arisen  in  two  child-hearts,  it  strengthens  in  the  time 
which  makes  the  boy  ajyouth  and  the  girl  a  maiden,  and 
grows  with  the  obstacles  in  its  path.  An  adverse  fate  parts 
the  two  lovers  by  sending  the  maid  into  distant  captivity 
and  the  slavery  of  a  seraglio.  But  the  youth  goes  forth  to 
find  her,  and  in  him  are  verified  the  words  of  the  Roman 
clegist : 

Quisquis  amore  tenetur  eat  tutusque  sacerque 
Qualibet :  insidias  non  timuisse  decet. 

He  succeeds  in  tracing  his  beloved,  and  in  reaching  her, 
despite  all  dangers  and  hindrances.  When  his  presence  in 
the  seraglio  is  discovered  and  the  noble  pair  are  condemned 
to  die,  their  love  flames  so  high  in  the  presence  of  death 
that  its  power  at  last  moves  even  the  enervated,  tyrant- 
hearted  sultan,  who  gives  the  lovers  back  to  life  and  happi- 
ness.^ He  goes  so  far  as  to  advance  one  of  the  ladies  of 
his  seraglio,  the  friend  of  Blancheflor,  to  be  his  consort  for 
life. 

A  feminine,  indeed  an  effeminate,  vein  runs  through  the 
narrative.  Magic  ascribed  to  rings  and  other  objects,  and 
never-failing  chance,  in  the  form  of  sympathising  hosts  and 

1  The  poet  of  the  Gerusakmine  UbercUa  may  have  had  this  scene  in  mind  in  his  sec- 
ond canto. 


ROMANCE  OF  TRISTAN  AND  ISOLD.  237 

accommodating  warders,  take  the  place  of  manly  achieve- 
ment. The  primitive  tone  and  dress  were  modified  in  the 
West.  In  France  a  chivalric  element  was  mixed  with  the 
erotic  fable.  We  see  the  hero  overcome  two  Arabian 
Gohaths,  and  maintain  the  innocence  of  his  loved  one  in 
trial  by  combat.  But  the  outlines  of  the  narrative  were  not 
effaced,  and  the  southern,  almost  oriental,  tone  and  style, 
appearing  outwardly  in  the  descriptions  of  beautiful  gardens 
and  the  like,  still  clung  to  the  French  romance.  They  are 
also  perceptible  in  the  English  Floriz  and  Blanc heßtir.  -The 
translator  confined  himself  more  closely  to  his  original  than 
Middle  English  poets  generally  did,  and  quite  successfully 
reproduced  it  in  pleasing,  fluent  language,  and  in  well-con- 
structed, short  couplets. 

His  work  is  a  genuine  court-romance,  in  which  the  trou- 
bles and  cares  of  love  are  drawn  with  a  delicate  hand,  and 
conversation  and  description  play  an  important  part.  It 
may  have  gained  approval  on  account  of  its  attractive  mate- 
rial ;  but  it  was  doubtless  fully  appreciated  only  by  the  few. 

A  new  version  from  the  French  was  made  not  long  after, 
while  the  first  began  to  spread  in  the  North. 

The  rivals  of  Floriz  and  BlancheHur  for  the  prize  of  true 
love  are  Tristan  and  Isold,  the  story  of  whose  fate  is  the  more 
fascinating  because  it  contains  truly  tragic  passages.  Love 
with  them  is  not  an  innocent  nor  a  virtuous  passion.  It  is  a 
devouring  flame,  a  demoniac  power,  that,  obeying  the  whim 
of  destiny,  seizes  even  him  who  resists,  and  makes  him  its 
pliant  tool,  that  compels  the  wise  man  to  go  with  open  eyes  to 
his  destruction,  and  transforms  the  noble-minded  into  a  trai- 
tor. The  sombre,  mysterious  trait,  which  in  Tristan  and  Isold 
makes  love  a  Titanic  natural  force,  may  harmonise  with  the 
character  of  the  rocky  coast  landscapes  of  Cornwall  and  of 
Britanny.  Here  lay  the  principal  scene  of  the  Tristan-saga^ 
and  here  it  was  probably  first  cultivated. 

Tristan  and  the  fair  Isold,  while  on  the  ship  bearing  them 
from  Ireland  to  Cornwall,  drink,  in  an  evil  hour,  of  the  magic 
potion  intended  for  Isold  and  King  Mark;  Isold  is  the 
betrothed  bride  of  Mark,  the  uncle  of  Tristan.  From  this 
instant  they  are  inseparably  united  for  life.  Nothing  more 
exists  for  them  save  their  love,  which  knows  no  other  laws 
than  its  own.     Isold  continues  her  iUicit  union  with  Tristan 


23^  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

when  she  is  Mark's  consort.  The  good-natured,  weak  king 
allows  himself  to  be  hoodwinked  again  and  again  by  the 
wiles  of  the  lovers,  although  frequently  warned,  and  by  his 
own  eyes  convinced  of  their  faithlessness.  Often  parted,  they 
always  know  how  to  find  a  way  to  each  other.  With  the  great- 
est naivete  they  put  aside  everything  that  stands  between  them 
and  the  goal  of  their  desires.  When  their  love  is  in  ques- 
tion, duty,  honour,  morals,  seem  entirely  absent.  In  one 
respect  only  are  they  sensitive  and  conscientious.  They 
will,  under  no  circumstances,  betray  their  love,  or  break  the 
\o\\s  they  have  mutually  sworn.  In  an  hour  of  weakness 
Tristan  makes  another  woman  his  wife — Isold  of  the  White 
Hand;  but  remorse  follows  close  upon  the  deed,  and  he 
avoids  the  bed  of  his  spouse  in  order  to  be  true  to  his  be- 
loved. This  half-accomplished  breach  of  faith  becomes  the 
cause  of  his  death.  Tristan,  very  ill  from  a  wound,  lies  in 
Britanny,  the  home  of  his  wife.  He  awaits  with  longing 
suspense  the  arrival  from  Cornwall  of  the  fair  Isold,  who, 
skilled  in  medicine,  will  save  him.  Her  presence  on  the  ex- 
pected ship  is  to  be  shown  by  a  white  sail ;  her  absence  by 
a  black  one.  A  vessel  with  a  white  sail  appears;  Tristan's 
much-injured  wife,  filled  with  jealousy,  knows  that  her  rival 
approaches.  In  her  rage  she  hurries  to  the  sick  man,  and 
announces  the  ship's  arrival.  "  For  the  sake  of  God,  what 
sail  does  it  carry  ?  "  "The  sails  are  black."  Despair  at  the 
faithlessness  of  the  beloved  one  seizes  the  heart  of  Tristan, 
and,  her  name  upon  his  lips,  he  breathes  out  his  life.  Isold 
lands  and  hears  of  his  death ;  her  agony  finds  no  utterance. 
Silently  she  steps  through  the  crowd  gazing  at  her  beauty,  to 
the  hall  where  lies  the  corpse.  There  she  flings  herself  upon 
the  bier,  and  dies  in  a  last  embrace. 

The  Tristan-saga  became  a  part  of  English  literature  at 
the  time  of  Edward  I.,  if  not  earher.  The  essential  parts  of 
the  text  we  possess  may  date  from  that  period.  It  originated 
north  of  the  H umber. 

Of  the  many  French  renderings  of  the  saga,  the  poet  of 
Sir  Tristre??i  used  a  version  identical  with,  or  based  upon, 
the  work  of  a  certain  Thomas.  Was  not  this  the  cause  of 
an  error  by  which,  in  the  English  poem  as  we  have  it, 
Thomas  of  Erceldoun  (Earlstoun  on  the  Scottish  border)  is 
given  as  the  poet's  authority  ?     Posterity  has  traced  back  a 


SIk  TRISTREM.  ^39 

number  of  prophecies  to  this  Thomas,  who  lived  in  the  sec- 
ond half  of  the  thirteenth  century,  and  was  known  as  the 
Rhymer.  At  the  time  of  Edward  IL,  in  whose  reign  our 
text  seems  to  have  been  written  down,  this  man  may  have 
already  been  so  renowned  in  Scotland  and  the  north  of  Eng- 
land that  the  name  Thomas  naturally  suggested  him  only. 

Whoever  the  poet  of  Sir  Tristrem  may  have  been,  he  had 
no  great  genius.  He  followed  his  copy  with  slavish  fidelity 
so  far  as  he  understood  it,  but  he  did  not  smooth  the  ine- 
qualities in  the  narrative,  nor  did  he  really  feel  them.  These 
inequalities  were  not  the  fault  of  the  French  writer,  but  were 
caused  by  gaps  in  the  transmitted  text.  The  English  trans- 
lator was  original  in  but  one  respect :  in  the  effort  to  abridge, 
he  advances  with  long  strides,  and  makes  great  leaps.  This 
does  not  prevent  him,  however,  from  minutely  describing 
Tristrem's  carving  of  the  game  he  has  slain;  for  this  noble 
art  is  of  so  great  importance  in  the  estimation  of  the  well- 
born Englishman  that,  in  a  later  romance,^  a  princess 
recognises  by  it  the  high  birth  of  her  lover.  But  he  con- 
denses in  the  crises  of  the  story ;  the  weightiest  moments 
are  only  briefly  indicated,  sometimes  not  even  that,  and 
the  reader  must  be  familiar  with  the  story  or  in  some 
places  read  between  the  lines  to  understand  him.  This 
abrupt  style  and  the  peculiar  verse  used  give  the  compo- 
sition something  of  the  character  of  a  ballad.  We  plain- 
ly see  in  Sir  Tristrem  how  ballads  could  arise  from  met- 
rical romances,  and,  as  may  be  shown,  this  was  often  the 
case. 

No  one  will  deny  that  this  brevity,  these  unexpected  tran- 
sitions, which,  however,  do  not  exclude  the  use  of  expletives 
to  fill  out  the  verse,  may  call  forth  and  augment  the  charm 
of  mystery;  and  this  method  is,  perhaps,  now  and  then 
appropriate  to  the  tenor  of  the  Tristan-saga.  But  employed 
by  an  inferior  poet,  it  is  one  of  the  lowest  expedients  of  art. 

An  episode  in  Sir  Tristrem  will  show  the  style  of  the  poet, 
not  at  his  worst,  and  by  no  means  in  his  most  exaggerated 
manner : 

From  Ireland  to  the  king 2  came  a  harper;  he  brought  forth  a  harp, 
such  as  they  had  never  seen  with  sight ;  himself,  without  doubt  bore 
it  day  and  night. 

*  In  the  Ij>omycU>n. 
i..       » Mark. 


240  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

Ysonde  1  he  had  loved  long,  he  that  brought  the  harp.  About  his 
neck  he  bare  it,  richly  it  was  wrought.  He  hid  it  evermore  ;  it  never 
came  out:  "Thy  harp,  why  wilt  thou  spare,  if  thou  knowest  aught 
of  playing?  "     "  It  will  not  come  out  without  free  gifts." 

Mark  said  :  *'  Let  me  see,  harp  as  thou  canst,  and  what  thou  askest 
me,  I  shall  give  thee  then."  "Gladly,"  said  he.  A  merry  lay  he 
began,  *'  Sir  king,  herewith  I  have  won  Ysonde,  I  prove  thee  a  false 
man,  or  I  shall  have  thy  queen." 

Mark  went  to  counsel,  and  asked  to  hear  advice.  "  I  must  lose  my 
manhood  or  yield  Ysonde  from  me."  Mark  was  full  of  dread,  Ysonde 
he  let  go.  Tristrem  in  that  need  was  in  the  wood  to  slay  deer  that 
day.     Tristrem  came  just  as  Ysonde  was  away. 

Then  Tristrem  was  in  anger,  and  chid  the  king  :  "  Givest  thou  glee- 
men  thy  queen  ?  Hast  thou  no  other  thing  ?  "  His  rote,'  without 
doubt,  he  reached  by  the  ring.  Then  followed  Tristrem  the  track, 
there  they  bring  her  so  blithely  to  the  ship;  Tristrem  began  to  sing, 
and  Ysonde  began  to  listen. 

Such  a  song  he  sang  that  she  was  very  sad;  to  her  came  such  love- 
longing,  that  her  heart  nigh  burst  in  two.  The  earl  sprang  to  her  with 
many  more  knights,  and  said  :  "  My  sweet  thing,  why  farest  thou  so, 
I  pray  ?  "     Ysonde  must  go  to  land  before  she  we'nt  away. 

"Within  an  hour  of  the  day  I  shall  be  hale  and  sound;  I  hear  a 
minstrel  say,  he  hath  a  melody  of  Tristrem."  The  earl  s-aid :  "  Ac- 
cursed be  he  forever,  if  he  comes  from  Tristrem  !  '  That  minstrel  for 
his  lay  shall  have  a  hundred  pounds  of  me,  if  he  will  with  us  go,  dear, 
for  thou  lovest  his  play. " 

His  playing  for  to  hear,  the  lady  was  set  on  land.  To  play  by  the 
river,  the  earl  led  her  by  the  hand.  Tristrem,  the  true  companion, 
found  merry  notes  on  his  rote  of  ivory,  as  they  that  hour  were  on  the 
strand.     Through  that  seemly  message,  Ysonde  was  hale  and  sound. 

She  was  hale  and  sound  through  virtue  of  his  playing.  Therefore 
was  the  earl  that  hour  a  glad  man.  A  hundred  pounds,  he  gave  Tris- 
trem, the  noble  one.  To  the  ship  then  they  went ;  in  Ireland  they 
full  fain  would-be  :  the  earl  and  knights  three,  with  Ysonde  and  Bring- 
wain."^ 

Tristrem  took  his  steed  and  leaped  thereon  to  ride.  The  queen  bade 
him  to  lead  her  beside  him  to  the  ship.  Tristrem  did  as  she  bade ;  in 
the  wood  he  hid  her.  To  the  earl  he  said  in  that  need :  "  Gone  is  thy 
pride,  thou  dolt ;  with  thy  harp  thou  didst  win  her  that  time,  thou  hast 
lost  her  with  my  rote.  "5 

By  way  of  illustration  of  the  form,  the  last  of  the  strophes 
cited  is  given  below  in  the  original.  The  basis  of  this  strophe 
is  four  Alexandrines  with  six  accents  each,  which  are  divided 
by  the  middle  rhyme  into  eight  short  lines ;  to  these  is  ad- 

'  Isold. 

*  A  stringed  instrument  whose  name  denotes  Celtic  origin.  In  Middle  High  Gei- 
nian  it  is  called  Rotte. 

*  This  sentence  is  not  clear  in  the  original 

*  The  faithful  handmaid  of  Ysonde. 

*  Sir  Tristrem,  Fytte,  ii.,  st.  63-72. 


ROMANCE  OF  ALEXANDER.  241 

ded,  after  a  metre  with  one  accent,  a  fifth  Alexandrine,  also 
divided : 

Tristrem  tok  his  stede, 

And  lepe  ther  on  to  ride; 
The  quen  bad  him  her  lede, 

To  schip  him  biside ; 
Tristrem  did  as  hye  bede ; 

In  wode  he  gan  hir  hide ; 
To  th'erl  he  seyd  in  that  nede : 
**  Thou  hast  ytent  thi  pride, 
Thou  dote : 

With  thine  harp,  thou  wonne  hir  that  tide, 
Thou  tint  hir  with  mi  rote." 

Love  was  not  the  only  theme  of  the  Middle  English  ro- 
mance. The  most  exalted  figures  of  the  hero-age  also  in- 
spired the  poet.  First  of  all  was  the  Alexander-saga,  which 
grew  as  popular  in  England  as  in  France  and  Germany. 
The  oldest  English  Alexa7ider-romaiice  is  one  of  the  best  pro- 
ductions of  the  whole  class.  It  probably  originated  in  the 
north  of  ancient  Mercia,  and  dates  from  the  reign  of  Edward 
I.  We  owe  much  to  the  unknown  poet  who,  with  great 
skill,  handled  the  rich,  attractive  material  and  rendered  it  in 
pithy  verse  and  forcible,  animated,  and  often  picturesque 
language.  As  was  usual  within  the  range  of  this  material, 
and,  indeed,  in  harmony  with  the  saga,  the  poet's  talent  took 
a  middle  ground  between  scholarly  and  chivalric  verse.  We 
are  reminded  of  the  first  by  a  frequent  didactic  tendency,  by 
interspersed  reflections,  introductory  passages,  and  descrip- 
tions of  foreign  lands  and  peoples,  with  their  wonders  and 
prodigies.  To  the  same  plainly  belongs  the  enumeration  of 
learned  authorities  for  the  statements  made, — badly  as  some 
of  them  were  chosen ; — and  it  is  still  more  suggested  by  the 
poet's  attitude  in  reference  to  his  sources.  He  mainly  fol- 
lows, for  instance,  a  French  version  of  the  legend  (one,  it 
would  seem,  not  yet  published),  but  he  supplements  the  ma- 
terial thus  gained  by  a  Latin  text.  He  thus  ceases  to  be  a 
mere  translator.  The  spirit  of  chivalric  poetry  breaks  forth 
most  strongly  when  the  writer  leads  us  to  the  battle-field, 
when  he  presents  to  us  the  picturesque  advance  of  the  troops, 
the  glittering  weapons,  the  neighing  of  war-horses ;  the  roar- 
ing onset,  the  tumult,  and  the  slaughter,  the  war-cry  of  the 
fighters  and  the  lamentation  of  the  wounded ;  or  when  he 

Q 


242  FROxM  LEWES  TO  CRECi^ 

describes  brilliant  festivals,  gorgeous  garments,  and  beautiful 
women. 

Throughout  the  whole  a  fresh  native  flavour  appears  in  the 
simplicity  of  expression,  in  many  a  detail  drawn  from  Eng- 
lish common  life,  and  in  frequent  reflections.  The  lyrical 
passages  introducing  the  separate  divisions  of  the  poem  have 
a  genuine  English  charm,  whether  they  are  the  composer's 
own  or  not. 

They  have  no  connection  with  the  narrative,  and  are  in- 
tended to  arouse  the  attention  of  the  audience.  They  usually 
contain  a  short  portraiture  of  nature  and  life  at  some  special 
period  of  the  year  or  day,  to  which  is  added  a  general  re- 
flection ;  for  example : 

\Mian  corn  ripeth  in  every  steode, 
Mury  hit  is  in  feld  and  hyde  ; 
Synne  hit  is  and  schäme  to  chide ; 
Knyghtis  wollith  on  huntyng  ride  ; 
The  deor  galopith  by  wodis  side. 
He  that  can  his  time  abyde, 
Al  his  wille  him  schal  bytyde.* 

Sometimes  a  generalisation  takes  the  place  of  the  picture  of 

nature : 

Hers,  streyngthe  of  herte,  and  hardinesse 

Schewith  mony  faire  prov.-esse. 

Nis  so  fair  a  thyng,  so  Crist  me  blesse, 

So  knyght  in  queyntise, 

Bote  the  prest  in  Codes  serwyse. 

Sitteth  stille  in  alle  wyse  : 

For  here  bigjmneth  gest  arise 

Of  doughty  men  and  gret  of  prise.' 

It  would  be  easy  to  cite  similar  things  in  other  literatures, 
especially  in  the  Alexander-poetry  ;  in  its  peculiar  develop- 
ment, however,  this  is  specifically  English.  A  prelude, 
closely  resembling  it,  opens  the  second  part  of  Richard 
Cceur  de  Lion,  to  which  we  will  now  turn  our  attention. 

Richard  Coeur  de  Lion  appears  in  poetical  tradition  as  a  sort 
of  national  Alexander.  We  may  also  call  the  subject-matter 
of  his  story  national;  for  the  Englishman  who  translated 
the  French  poem  for  his  unlearned  countrymen  (near  the 
time  of  Edward  I.)  did  not  regard  the  hero  as  a  foreigner: 

In  French  books  is  this  rhyme  written.  Unlearned  men  know  it  not; 
unlearned  men  know  no  French;  among  a  hundred  there  is  not  one. 

*  V.  457-463- 
-  T.  3584-3591. 


RICHARD  CCEUR  DE  LION.  243 

And  yet  many  of  them  would  hear  with  glad  cheer,  of  the  noble  jousts 
of  the  doughty  knights  of  England.  In  sooth,  now  I  will  tell  of  a  king, 
doughty  in  deed,  King  Richard,  the  best  warrior  that  one  may  find  in 
any  tale.' 

As  the  version  followed  by  the  poet  of  the  English  Alex- 
ander-romance  makes  the  Macedonian  hero  the  son  of  a  ma- 
gician,^ so  the  Anglo-Norman  saga  gives  Richard  an  en- 
chantress as  mother.  The  romance  opens  with  an  account 
of  the  vay  in  which  the  beautiful  Cassodorien  becomes  the 
consort  of  Henry  II.,  and  of  her  final  marvellous  disappear- 
ance. Alexander  gives  token  of  his  future  greatness  by  the 
subjugation  of  Bucephalus,  and  Richard  foreshadows  his  by 
the  deed  of  heroism  to  which  he  owes  his  name,  and  whose 
renown  echoes  in  Shakspere's  verse : 

Richard  that  robbed  the  lion  of  his  heart 3 

Like  Alexander,  Richard  undertakes  a  vast  warlike  expedi- 
tion to  the  Orient,  and  the  busy  fancy  of  the  Middle  Ages 
enlivened  it  with  a  series  of  adventures  not  known  to  history. 
While  in  Alexander,  however,  the  mediaeval  kingly  ideal 
shines  forth  in  all  its  brilliancy,  Richard  generally  appears 
only  in  the  light  of  a  powerful  knight  with  gigantic  bodily 
strength.  One  of  his  most  conspicuous  traits  is  uncontrolled 
passion.  With  his  cruelty  is  mixed  wanton  barbarity,  pitiless 
humour.  He  causes  the  heads  of  their  nearest  kindred  to  be 
served  at  table  before  Saladin's  embassadors,  who  have 
brought  him  ransom  for  the  prisoners  ;  and,  feasting  his  eyes 
on  their  terror,  he  helps  himself  heartily  to  the  horrible  dish. 
"  This  is  the  Devil's  brother,"  the  Saracens  whisper  among 
themselves,  "  that  slays  our  men  and  eats  them."  Richard, 
with  sinister  looks,  says  to  his  guests :  "  For  my  love,  be  all 
glad,  and  look  ye  be  well  at  ease !  Why  carve  ye  nought 
from  your  food  and  eat  fast  as  I  do  ?  Tell  me,  why  glare 
ye  so  ?  "  Speechless  and  trembling,  the  embassadors  sit  ex- 
pecting certain  death.  Richard  has  other  dishes  served,  ac- 
companied with  good  wine,  and  calls  upon  his  guests  to  be 
merry;  but  appetite  is  wanting,  mirth  does  not  respond. 
Then  the  king  says :  "  Friends,  be  not  squeamish.  This  is 
the  manner  of  my  house,  that  Saracens'  heads  be  first  served 
right  hot.     But  1  knew  not  your  customs.     As  I  am  a  king, 

•  Richard  Cceur  de  Lion,  21-32. 

*  It  remains  to  be  said  that  other  A  lexattder  poets,  as  for  example,  Alberic  of  Besaa« 
jon,  characterise  this  tradition  as  abase  lie. 

»  King  yoh7t,  II.  i.     Compare  also  the  close  of  the  first  act. 


244  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

Christian,  and  true  man,  ye  shall  certainly  return  in  safe  con- 
duct. For  I  would  not  for  no  thing  that  word  of  me  should 
go  forth  into  the  world  that  I  would  misdo  messengers."^ 

The  poet  tells  all  this  quite  impartially,  and  even  with  visi- 
ble enjoyment.  He  is  plainly  not  more  delicate  than  his 
hero.  He  unrolls  for  us  in  his  light,  deftly  constructed 
verses,  a  vivid  and  variegated  picture  of  knightly  life  and 
deeds;  but  his  poetry  unconsciously  reflects  all  the  rude 
manners  and  morals  of  his  epoch,  all  the  arrogance  and  un- 
bridled coarseness  of  the  mediaeval  John  Bull. 

Beside  the  Anglo-Norman  hero,  Richard,  appears  in  the 
twilight  of  tradition  the  figure  of  the  British  Arthur, 
whom  we  last  encountered  in  La3amon's  Brut.  The  litera- 
ture in  the  French  language  clustering  around  the  Arthurian 
cycle  was  rich  and  diversified.  The  courtly  epic  reached 
technical  perfection,  and  here,  for  the  first  time,  was  achieved 
the  ideal  representation  of  court-life  and  court-etiquette,  with 
its  finished  conventional  apparatus.  In  this  case  it  was 
again  evident  that  English  poetry  was  more  intent  upon 
borrowing  matter  than  upon  assimilating  the  formal  excel- 
lences of  foreign  models.  What  seems  first  to  have  incited  to 
imitation  was  not  one  of  those  artistically  constructed  poem-s 
that  Crestien  de  Troyes,  with  a  skilful  choice  of  topic,  could 
create  out  of  diffuse  material.  It  was  a  long-winded  prose 
romance,  with  confusing  and  monotonous  abundance  of  epi- 
sode, with  numerous  names,  a  tone  of  mystery,  and  a  dim, 
mystical  background.  The  poet  oiA7-thour  and  Merlin  trans- 
lated such  a  prose  romance,  in  short  couplets,  it  is  true,  and 
not  without  characteristic  deviations  from  the  original,  but 
nowhere  showing  that  he  had  learned  anything  from  Cres- 
tien, or  had  inherited  any  of  his  artistic  instinct.  Instead 
of  an  increased  courtly  tone,  it  received,  in  the  hands  of  the 
imitator,  that  popular  flavour,  peculiar  to  the  early  English 
romance,  and  first  noticeable  in  the  introductory  landscapes 
familiar  to  us  in  the  Alexander. 

Both  Richard  and  Arthur  belong  to  cycles  of  tradition  of 
which  English  territorial  patriotism  could  boast  as  its  own. 
The  English  romance,  however,  had  already  drawn  the 
French  national  epic  of  Charlemagne  into  its  range.  It  was 
the  Song  of  Roland  \\\i\Qkv  was  first  imitated  among  the  peo- 

*  RicJtard  Cceur  de  Lion,  Weber,  ch.  ix. 


LEGEND  OF  CHARLEMAGNE  IN  THE  ENGLISH  EPIC.      245 

pie  for  whose  victorious  conquest  it  had  once  inspired  the 
foreign  foe  at  Senlac.  The  power  with  which  the  form  and 
import  of  the  grand  composition  affected  the  EngHsh  author 
is  plainly  evident.  He  strove  for  a  terse,  pregnant  diction, 
and  with  some  success,  but  he  was  not  able  to  give  his  verses 
an  even,  epic  movement.  His  short  couplets  are  often 
lengthened  under  the  influence  of  the  French  ten-syllabled 
line,  and  the  epic  spirit  in  his  original  involuntarily  moves 
him  to  adopt  the  ancient  ornament  of  the  national  poetry, 
alliteration,  which  he  uses  without  definite  rules. 

In  harmony  with  the  causes  which  soon  after  the  Con- 
quest alienated  the  Normans  from  the  French  national  epic, 
we  rarely  find  that  the  more  ancient  English  romance-writ- 
ers drew  from  the  purer  popular  wells  of  the  Chai^lemagne- 
saga.  The  Song  of  Roland^  brought  to  England  by  the 
Conqueror,  is  an  exception  that  only  proves  the  rule.  We 
already  see,  in  the  rendering  of  this  epic,  traces  of  the  re- 
gard gained  in  England  by  versions  not  original  and  influ- 
enced by  clerical  invention.  The  so-called  Chronicle  of 
Turphi  was  largely  used  by  the  English  Roland-poet.  He 
owes  to  it  a  very  characteristic  incident,^  which  is  as  familiar 
to  the  modern  French  opera  as  it  was  to  the  monkish  litera- 
ture of  the  Middle  Ages. 

Besides  these,  it  was  principally  products  of  a  waning 
force,  epopees  of  the  thirteenth  century,  that  came  within 
the  range  of  the  English  poets.  Especially  popular  in  the 
reign  of  Edward  II.  was  the  poem  of  Otinel.  The  plot  of 
this  epopee  is  no  part  of  the  old  Charlemagne-saga.  It  is 
rather  a  collection  of  incidents  and  characters  touching 
other  Carlo vingian  cha?isons  that  were  grouped  around  a 
new  hero  scarcely  original  in  anything  save  his  name.  The 
whole  invention  is  conceived  as  an  episode  in  the  cycle  of 
Charlemagne's  Spanish  wars,  although  the  scene  of  action 
lies  mainly  in  Lombardy.  This  production  of  the  epigonic 
epic  was  twice  translated  into  English,  in  the  same  period, 
despite  its  slight  value.  A  Sire  Otuel  was  contributed,  in 
passably  good  verse,  by  one  translator.  It  very  faithfully 
reproduced  the  original,  and,  as  a  romance  in  short  couplets, 
showed,  to  better  advantage  than  the  French  chanson  de 
geste,  whose  modicum  of  epic  spirit  harmonises  ill  with  the 

*  Jn  brief,  the  secjuction  of  Christian  heroes  by  heathen  women. 


246  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

single -rhymed  strain.  Unless  perchance  the  work  of  the 
other  translator  has  come  to  us  in  a  revision,  he  had  meagre 
poetic  talent,  and  was  a  bad  versifier ;  but  he  was  thoroughly 
familiar  with  the  clerical  legend  of  Charlemagne,  and  even  rose 
to  the  idea  of  making  a  cyclic  compilation.  He  inserted  his 
Otuel,  in  what  seemed  to  him  a  suitable  place,  in  a  version  of 
Turpin^s  Chi'onicle,  and  he  prefixed  to  the  w^hole  an  account 
of  Charlemagne's  journey  to  the  Orient.  The  poem  in  four 
parts,  thus  composed,  was  first  taken  up  in  its  unity — a  unity 
rather  intended  than  realised — by  a  modern  French  critic, 
and  was  baptised  by  him  with  the  name  of  Charlemaine  and 
Roland. 

Nothing  is  perhaps  more  characteristic  of  the  epoch 
than  the  manner  in  which  English  poetry  dealt  with  the 
national  past.  Two  romances  dating  from  the  first  quarter 
of  the  fourteenth  century  transport  us  to  the  Old  English 
period,  to  the  time  of  Aethelstan  and  Eadgar;  that  is,  they 
claim  to  do  this  in  the  same  fashion  that  mediaeval  romances 
of  Troy  claim  to  reveal  the  antique  world.  Guy  of  War- 
wick and  Bevis  of  Hampton  are  both  names  unknown  to 
English  histoiy.  They  are  also  unknown  to  saga,  until  they 
emerge  as  heroes  of  Anglo-Norman  poems  of  the  twelfth 
century.  It  is  possible,  and  even  probable,  that  in  Gity  of 
Wai'wick,  the  poet  made  use  of  Enghsh  local  traditions,  in 
which  things  really  separated  in  time  and  place  had  already 
blended.  Each  of  the  two  poems  offers  a  motley  mixture 
of  knightly  adventures,  such  as  delighted  the  imagination  of 
the  age  of  the  crusades.  Everything  is  indicative  of  the 
period  to  which  they  owed  their  origin ;  the  spirit  that  per- 
vades them,  the  combination  of  religious  and  worldly  mo- 
tives, the  influence  of  supernatural  powers,  the  relations 
with  the  Orient,  where  much  of  the  action  plays — in  Bevis 
of  Hamptoji,  the  greater  part — the  setting  and  the  moral 
atmosphere.  Many  other  traits  suggest  widely  dispersed 
materials  of  saga  and  story,  naturally  including  some 
English  ones.  He  who  possesses  the  fancy  of  the  true 
student  of  folk-lore  will  discern  a  rejuvenation  of  Beowulf, 
the  victor  over  Grendel  and  Grendel's  mother,  in  Bevis,  who 
kills  the  dreaded  boar  of  King  Ermyn's  forest,  and  who  is 
lowered  weaponless  into  King  Inor's  dungeon-keep,  and  by 
means   of  a   cudgel,   accidentally   found,   overcomes   two 


GUY  OF  WARWICK.  247 

dragons  that  house  there ;  while  the  other  dragon-fight  of 
Bevis,  in  the  vicinity  of  Cologne,  will,  perhaps,  vividly  recall 
to  him  Siegfried  and  the  Drachenfels. 

The  legendary  theme  around  which  the  Guy  of  Warwick 
centres  is  attractive.     It  awakens  many  an  ancient  remin- 
iscence.    At  the  pinnacle  of  earthly  happiness  Guy  renounces 
the  world,  and  forsakes  his  country,  his  people,  and  his 
blooming  wife  to   make   a  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Land. 
He  returns  to  his  home  after  a  long  absence,  a  stranger  to 
all.     There  he  finds  great  distress.     Kmg  Athelstan  is  be- 
sieged in  his  capital  city,  Winchester,  by  Anlaf,  the  king  of 
the  Danes.     He  can  only  be  saved  from  sure  destruction  by 
the  favourable  issue  of  a  single  combat,  in  which  the  giant 
Colbrand  is  to  represent  the  Danish  cause.     Athelstan  in  vain 
seeks  a  champion  who  can  cope  with  Colbrand.     After  days 
of  fasting  and  prayer  he  receives  in  a  dream  the  direction  to 
put  his  cause  into  the  hands  of  the  first  pilgrim  he  meets 
at  his  palace  door.     The  pilgrim — Guy  himself,  as  a  matter 
of  course — is  with  difficulty  persuaded  to  change  the  staff 
for  the   sword,  but   he  finally  yields  to  the   entreaties  of 
Athelstan  and  his  nobles.     He  equips  himself,  enters  the 
contest,  and  after  a  severe  struggle  comes  forth  victor.     Car- 
ried in  triumph  to  Winchester,  he  at   once   withdraws  from 
all  demonstrations  of  thanksgiving  and  honour,  again  dons 
the  pilgrim's  garb,   and   departs   without  making   himself 
known.     He  reveals  the  secret  to  King  Athelstan,  who  has 
followed  him,  but  only  after  making  him  swear  to  keep  it 
inviolate  for  twelve  months.     Thereupon  he  parts  from  the 
king  and  goes  to  Warwick.     He  enjoys,  as  pilgrim,  the  hos- 
pitalities of  his  own  house,  and  is  an  unrecognised  witness 
of  his  consort's  life,  passing  in  the  practices  of  piety  and 
benevolence.       He   departs  as  he   has    come,   a  stranger, 
and  betakes  himself  to  the  forest  of  Ardennes.     Here  he 
lives  as  a  hermit  until  an  angel  announces  his  approaching 
end.       He  sends  for  his  wife,  and  breathes  his  last  in  her 
arms.       His  consort  survives  him    for  fourteen  days;    the 
same  grave  then  closes  over  both. 

It  is  a  pity  that  so  many  accessories  are  added  to  this 
ground-work.  We  are  only  slightly  interested  in  Guy's  ex- 
periences during  his  pilgrimage.  And  we  are  still  less 
inoved  by  that  part  of  the  narrative  preceding  his  pilgrin)- 


248  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

age,  which  includes  the  long-drawn  tale  of  Guy's  wooing  of 
Fenice  before  she  happily  becomes  his  wife.  The  modem 
reader  has  also  little  sympathy  with  the  adventures  of  Rein- 
brun,  the  son  of  this  marriage,  which  partly  are  inserted,  in 
the  manner  of  a  Telemachy  in  this  Christian  Odyssey,  and 
partly  serve  to  continue  it. 

The  effect  was  very  different  upon  the  naive  auditors  of 
the  fourteenth  century,  especially  upon  the  English,  who 
keenly  enjoyed  the  feats  of  Guy  and  Reinbrun,  and  were 
not  a  little  proud  of  their  national  fellowship  with  them. 
Winchester,  Warwick,  and  other  well-known  names  put  in 
connection  with  such  marvellous  adventures  must  indeed 
have  made  a  deep  impression.  It  is  no  wonder  that  Guy 
of  Warwick  found  two  English  translators  as  early  as  the 
beginning  of  the  century,  and  that  a  third  was  added  fifty 
or  sixty  years  later.  The  subject-matter  attracted  poetic 
treatment  as  late  as  in  the  fifteenth  century,  and  even  in 
Queen  Elizabeth's  time.  For  like  reasons  Bevis  of  Hamp- 
to7i  was  a  great  favourite.  Until  far  into  the  reign  of  Edward 
III.  the  short  couplet  continued  to  be  the  predominant  form 
of  the  English  romance.  In  the  reign  of  Edward  I.,  how- 
ever, a  rival  had  arisen  whose  competition  became  ever  more 
dangerous.  We  found  in  the  religious  lyrics  of  the  last  peri- 
od, a  strophe  constructed  on  the  principle  of  the  tail-rhyme 
{ryjne  coiiee)^  that  originated  in  the  versus  tripcrtifer  caudati 
of  the  Latin  Sequences.  English  popular  poetry  soon  mas- 
tered this  form,  and  first,  it  would  seem,  in  the  North. 
There,  at  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century,  the  story 
of  Horn  Childe  and  Maideji  Rimnild  was  recited  or  sung  in 
twelve-lined  stanzas  as  follows  : 

With  Horn  my  son  y  wil  ye  be 
As  your  faders  han  ben  with  me 

And  othes  ye  schul  him  swere, 
That  ye  schal  never  fram  him  fle, 
For  gold  no  silver,  lond  no  fe, 

Oyein  outlondis  here  ; 
To  Horn  his  sone  he  hem  bitoke 
And  dede  hem  swere  opon  the  boke. 

Feute  thai  schuld  him  here ; 
While  that  thai  live  might, 
With  helme  on  heved,  and  brini  bright, 

His  londes  for  to  were.* 


1  Ritson,  Anc.  Eng.  metr.  Rom.,  III.  286, 


METRICAL  FORMS.  249 

Probably  the  seggers  began  in  the  North  to  clothe  their  pre- 
ludes in  this  strophe  when  they  recited  EngHsh  versions  of 
French  romances.  They  even  rewrote  in  that  form  espe- 
cially favourite  and  conspicuous  passages.  This  usage  soon 
spread  over  all  England.  Several  romances,  translated  in 
couplets  from  the  French,  were  entirely,  or  in  part,  recast 
into  the  ryrne  couee.  Thus  under  Edward  II.  were  written 
in  this  verse  at  least  the  introductions  to  Richard  Coeur  de 
Lio7i  and  Beves  of  Hamtoim  ^  and  a  great  part  of  Gy  of 
Wa7"wike;  including  what  we  have  termed  the  ground-work 
of  the  poem.  Chat'lemame  and  Roland  has  come  to  us 
complete,  and  only  in  ryme  couee.  In  the  course  of  time 
this  rhyme  was  probably  used  for  direct  translation. 

The  short  couplet,  however,  retained  its  charm  and  im- 
portance for  more  select  circles  and  more  refined  poets. 
When  in  the  second  half  of  the  fourteenth  century  an  art 
poetry  began  to  flourish  that  may  justly  claim  to  be  classic, 
the  tail -rhyme  was  derided  as  doggerel,  as  in  Chaucer's 
Canterbury  Tales.  Then  the  twelve-lined  stanza  was  monop- 
olised by  the  ballad-singers,  while  the  short  couplet  held  its 
own  for  a  long  time  by  the  side  of  newer  and  nobler  forms. 

But  no  such  sharp  division  can  be  distinctly  traced  until 
the  reign  of  Richard  II.  As  long  as  the  use  of  French  in 
every-day  hfe  was  counted  a  sign  of  higher  rank  and  greater 
refinement,  it  was  impossible  for  a  strictly  artistic  tendency 
completely  to  enter  the  national  poetry.  The  Enghsh 
chivalric  poetry  hardly  ever  appeared  in  pure  court-garb. 
It  was  more  or  less  affected  by  a  popular  element.  We 
rarely  discover  that  purity  and  finish  of  form  which  is  wont 
to  flourish  in  art-schools.  Generally  those  liberties  were 
taken  in  which  the  folk-song  delighted.  There  were  con- 
trasts, but  they  were  so  variously  connected  and  indistinctly 
defined  that  they  seemed  to  blend ;  as  in  English  society  no 
impassable  chasm  separates  the  peer  from  the  commoner, 
the  gentry  from  the  free  landholders  and  citizens. 

So  much  is  certain  :  the  native  and  popular  element  of 
the  early  Enghsh  romance,  as  compared  with  its  French 
model,  appears  at  best  advantage  in  the  twelve-lined  strophe. 
Foreign  materials  do  not  seem  to  have  been  quite  natural- 
ised until  they  had  taken  this  shape.     The  reason  is  plain^ 

1  Where  the  strophe  has  only  sLx  lines. 


250  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

Deviations  of  form  compel  and  excite  greater  freedom  of 
treatment.  A  strophic  structure  leads  to  a  fixed  manner  of 
presentation,  and,  in  fact,  to  that  presentation  which  is  most 
acceptable  to  popular  poetry,  especially  the  Germanic. 

The  poetry  of  a  people  does  not  employ  the  strophe  from 
musical  necessity  merely.  The  strophe  is  like  a  frame  in 
which  a  finished  picture  gains  its  fullest  effect,  and  folk-po- 
etry is  concerned  with  a  series  of  effective  pictures.  To 
reproduce  fully  and  fondly  to  depict  the  chief  crises  of  the 
action,  including  everything  able  strongly  to  stir  fancy  or 
feeling ;  to  present  vividly  these  essential  moments,  even  if 
in  themselves  they  are  never  so  immaterial ;  yet  to  indicate 
lightly  or  to  pass  over  the  links  necessary  to  comprehension, 
but  easily  disregarded  by  a  soaring  fancy; — these  are  the 
phases  in  the  creation  of  folk-poetry. 

It  is  these  things  which  are  characteristic  of  the  early 
English  romances  in  ryme  couee.  One  of  the  oldest  and 
most  beautiful  of  these  is  Amis  and  Aviiloun. 

Among  the  most  widely  dispersed  traditions  of  the  Middle 
Ages  is  the  affecting  legend  of  Amicus  and  Amelius.  It  is 
the  story  of  two  men  resembling  each  other  so  nearly  that 
they  cannot  be  told  apart.  They  are  bound  together  in 
such  close  friendship  that  one  takes  the  place  of  the  other  in 
the  trial  by  combat,  thus  loading  his  soul  with  the  guilt  of 
peijury,  and  is  punished  by  leprosy;  the  other  heals,  with 
the  hearts'  blood  of  his  own  children,  the  man  who  has  suf- 
fered for  his  sake,  and  who  is  repudiated  by  all  the  world. 
The  mediaeval  ideal  of  friendship  is  embodied  in  this  legend  ; 
it  is  a  loyalty  that  does  not  shun  the  greatest  sacrifice,  the 
sacrifice  of  life  and  even  of  conscience,  and  which  does  not 
fail  of  the  highest  reward,  the  capability  of  atoning  for  the 
crime.  After  Amicus  is  healed  with  their  blood,  the  slaugh- 
tered children  of  Amelius  awake  as  from  a  dream.  It  is  not 
astonishing  that  pious  popular  belief  celebrated  the  two 
friends  as  martyrs,  and  that  their  legend  passed  from  Latin 
into  the  vernaculars.  The  French  national  epic  took  pos- 
session of  this  subject  as  early  as  the  twelfth  century.  Al- 
though only  outwardly  and  loosely  connected  with  its  nucleus, 
Ajjiis  and  Amiles  appeared  as  a  part  of  the  Carlovingian 
cycle.  It  was  composed  in  single-rhymed  strains,  and  faith- 
fully reproduced  the  essential  import  of  the  legend,  but  in 


AMIS  AND  AMILOUN.  251 

the  garb  of  feudal  chivalry,  and  in  the  epic  spirit.  This 
French  chanson  de  gesfe  became  the  source  of  the  English 
romance,  which  explicitly  refers  to  the  geste  as  its  original.^ 
The  principal  features  of  the  original  are  found  in  the  copy ; 
but  there  are  various  deviations  in  detail.  That  the  two 
friends  here  exchange  names,  the  leprous  one  being  Amiloun, 
the  child-slayer  Amis,  seems  immaterial.  It  is  of  only  neg- 
ative importance  that  the  loose  connection  with  the  Charle- 
magne-saga is  quite  dissolved  in  the  English  poem ;  that  in- 
stead of  the  great  emperor,  a  duke  of  Lombardy  appears, 
whose  daughter,  Belisant,  bears  the  same  name  as  Charle- 
magne's daughter,  whose  place  she  has  taken.  But  how 
characteristic  are  the  many  omissions  and  abbreviations  of 
the  English  poet,  and  his  rarer  additions!  Take,  for  in- 
stance, the  beautiful  Belisant's  wooing  of  the  youth  (in  the 
original  Amiles,  in  the  English  Amis)  living  at  her  father's 
court,  and  notably  the  manner  in  which  she  finally  attains 
her  end.  What  sensuous  charm  lies  in  the  circumstantial 
narrative  of  the  French  poet !  With  the  Englishman,  Beli- 
sant is,  if  possible,  more  pressing,  at  all  events  more  blunt, 
than  in  his  original.  The  English  Belisant,  however,  does 
not  employ  the  artifice  of  the  French  maiden.  The  youth 
finally  yields  to  her  advances,  we  cannot  clearly  see  why. 
There  is  a  dry  relation  of  the  fact,  instead  of  the  seductive 
portrayal  of  the  original.  Less  refined  than  his  model,  but 
more  honest,  the  English  poet  cannot  deny  himself  and  his 
readers  an  occasional  cHmactic  effect,  calculated  for  stronger 
nerves  and  not  to  be  found  in  the  chanson  de  geste.  Imme- 
diately before  one  of  the  most  aftecting  scenes  of  the  narra- 
tive, the  recognition  of  the  two  friends.  Amis  is  made  to 
beat  the  leprous  beggar  most  severely.  He  does  this  be- 
cause he  takes  him  for  Amiloun's  murderer,  since  he  sees 
him  in  possession  of  Amiloun's  cup.  Finally  he  understandi 
that  it  is  his  own  friend  whom  he  is  maltreating. 

From  the  board  he  raised  then,  and  seized  his  sword  as  a  mad  man, 
and  drew  it  out  with  violence.     On  to  the  castle  gate  he  ran ;  in  all 

1  Since  the  appearance  of  the  original  edition  of  this  work,  a  learned  writer  has  at- 
tempted to  show  that  the  poem  translated,  or  imitated,  by  the  author  of  A  mis  and 
Amilojin,  was  not  the  French  chafison  de  geste,  but  an  Anglo-Norman  romance,  in 
short  couplets,  on  the  same  subject.  After  all  that  has  been  said  on  this  question,  I  con- 
fess I  am  still  in  doubt  as  to  the  mutual  relation  of  the  English  and  the  Anglo-Norman 
poems.  Their  relation  does  not  seem  to  me  to  exclude  the  possibility  of  the  latter  be- 
ing an  imitation,  rather  than  the  original  of  (.he  former. 


252  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

the  court  there  was  no  man  that  might  stop  him.  He  fell  upon  the 
leper  in  the  wagon,  and  seized  him  in  his  two  hands,  and  flung  him  in- 
to the  ditch,  and  laid  on  as  if  he  were  mad.  And  all  that  stood  about  him 
made  great  wailing. 

"Traitor,"  said  the  duke  so  bold,  **  whence  haddest  thou  this  cup 
of  gold,  and  how  earnest  thou  thereto?  For  by  him  that  Judas  sold, 
Amiloun,  my  brother,  possessed  it  when  he  went  from  me."  "Yes, 
truly,  sir,"  he  began  to  say,  "  it  was  his  when  in  his  country,  and  now 
it  has  happened  so.  But  truly  now  that  I  am  here,  the  cup  is  mine,  I 
bought  it  dear;   I  came  to  it  with  right." 

Then  was  the  duke  full  angry  of  mood  ;  no  man  that  about  him  stood 
durst  lay  hand  upon  him.  He  spurned  him  with  his  foot,  and  laid  on 
as  he  were  mad,  with  his  naked  blade.  And  by  his  feet  he  drew  the 
leper,  and  trod  upon  him  in  the  slough.  He  would  stop  for  nothing. 
And  he  said:  "  Thief,  thou  shalt  be  slain,  if  thou  dost  not  confess  the 
truth  where  thou  foundest  the  cup." 

Childe  Amoraunti  stood  among  the  people,  and  saw  his  lord,  how  hf» 
was  ruefully  treated  with  injustice  and  wrong.  He  was  both  hardy 
and  strong;  he  caught  the  duke  in  his  arms,  and  held  him  still  upright. 
"Sir,"  he  said,  "thou  art  rude  and  unfeeling,  to  slay  that  gentle 
knight.  Well  sorely  may  he  rue  the  hour  that  ever  he  took  the  wound 
for  thee,  to  save  thy  life  in  fight." 

When  Sir  Amis  heard  him  so  say,  he  sprang  to  the  knight  without 
more  delay,  and  clasped  him  in  his  two  arms.  And  often  he  said, 
"alas;  "  his  song  was  "  welaway!  "  He  looked  upon  his  bare  shoul- 
der, and  saw  the  gruesome  wounds  there,  as  Am.oraunt  had  said.  He 
fell  a-swooning  to  the  ground,  and  oft  he  said,  "alas,  the  hour  that 
ever  he  bode  that  day." 

"Alas,"  he  said,  "my  joy  is  lost.  A  greater  monster  was  never 
born ;  I  know  not  what  I  may  do.  For  he  saved  my  life  before  ;  I 
have  requited  him  with  sorrow  and  shame,  and  wrought  him  much  woe. 
O  brother,"  he  said,  "  for  charity,  forgive  thou  me  this  rueful  deed  that  I 
have  smitten  thee  so."  And  he  forgave  him  all  so  quickly  and  kissed 
him  many  a  time  weeping  with  "  eighen  two.  "2 

The  adventures  of  the  King  of  Tars  were  also  sung  in 
twelve-hned  stanzas.  The  king's  beautiful  and  devout  daugh- 
ter has  the  heroism  to  marry  the  pagan  sultan  of  Damascus 
in  order  to  save  her  father,  and  is  rewarded  by  the  conversion 
of  her  husband  to  the  Christian  faith. 

The  story  of  Sire  Degarre  (Pe'gare),  on  the  contrary,  v/as 
told  in  short  couplets.  He  is  a  foundling,  born  out  of  wed- 
lock, who  goes  forth  to  seek  his  father  and  mother.  He 
succeeds  in  finding  them  both,  but  is  not  recognised  by  his 
mother  until  he  has  given  her  his  hand  at  the  altar,  nor  by 
his  father  until  he  has  fought  with  him.  The  representation 
of  the  familiar  theme  is  interrupted  in  this  well-constructed, 

'  Amiloun's  faithful  companion. 
2  A  mis  attd  A  niiloun,  2065-2136. 


ROMANCE  AND  TALE.  253 

symmetrical  romance  by  only  a  single  episode.  Its  heroine 
is  a  maiden,  beset  by  a  giant,  and  the  hero  by  combat  wins 
her  for  his  bride.  In  this  episode  figures  the  lonely  castle- 
hall  with  the  dwarf  in  attendance.  It  is,  in  brief,  a  conven- 
tional tale  of  chivalry. 

Let  us  conclude.  The  early  English  romance  did  not,  as 
a  whole,  reach  the  level  of  its  French  model.  Not  only  the 
honour  of  invention  must  be  ascribed  to  the  French  (inven- 
tion in  composition,  not  in  material),  but  also  that  of  a  more 
delicate  execution  and  more  harmonious  presentation.  The 
frequently  abridged  English  versions  are,  as  a  rule,  poorer, 
ruder,  and  of  a  less  complete  logical  structure ;  and  their  ex- 
celling qualities,  a  more  popular  tone,  a  more  vigorous 
painting  within  narrower  compass,  do  not  make  good  these 
defects.  But  we  are  charmed  by  the  joy  they  manifest  in 
nature,  in  the  green  forests,  and  in  hunting,  and  we  contem- 
plate not  without  satisfaction  this  rude  primeval  force  that 
does  not  exclude  deep  feeling,  even  if  it  often  indulges  in 
coarseness.  Thus  the  English  muse,  if  less  delicate  and 
dainty  than  her  French  sister,  was  less  artificial ;  if  more  pas- 
sionate, was  less  lascivious ;  and  in  her  enthusiasm  for  what 
is  grandly  colossal,  her  joy  in  the  actual,  she  showed,  even 
when  repeating  foreign  romances,  many  of  the  features  that 
were  to  characterise  her  in  the  time  of  her  full  splendour. 

III. 

By  the  side  of  the  romance  was  unfolded  what  Germans 
would  call  the  Novelle.  In  English  there  then  existed,  as 
now,  no  comprehensive  specific  name  to  distinguish  one  from 
the  other;  for  "  tale  "  may  designate  both  in  the  same  man- 
ner as,  at  present,  every  romance  is  called  a  "  novel,"  while 
the  word  "  novelette  "  only  points  out  a  difference  of  greater 
or  less  extent.  The  element  of  quantity  is,  indeed,  not  un- 
important, but  it  is  only  secondary.  The  real  distinction 
lies  in  the  subject-matter  and  in  the  mode  of  treatment. 

The  Novelle,  for  which  we  will  substitute  the  English  word 
tale,  requires  a  simple,  easily  grasped  subject-matter,  and 
disdains  episodes.  In  the  romance  of  that  time  we  have  a 
more  or  less  complicated  action ;  the  unity  rests  in  the  per- 
son of  the  hero,  and  the  interest  with  which  he  imbues  us, 


254  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

in  the  combination  of  motives,  in  the  idea.  The  tale  con- 
cerns itself  with  the  character  of  its  heroes  only  so  far  as 
this  is  revealed  in  the  plot.  In  the  case  of  historical  or 
typical  personages,  it  assumes  the  necessary  pre -knowledge, 
and  is  content  with  brief  hints  as  regards  other  personages, 
if  it  does  not  simply  dispose  of  them  by  the  words,  a  "  knight," 
a  "  youth,"  or  a  "  widow."  The  romance  makes  us  inti- 
mately know  the  heroes  for  whom  our  interest  is  claimed ;  in 
the  modern  novel  the  main  stress  is  often  laid  upon  the  in- 
fluence of  the  events  related  upon  the  character  of  the  hero. 

The  tale  creates  a  greater  interest  in  things,  the  romance 
in  persons ;  that  appeals  to  the  intellect,  this  chiefly  to  the 
imagination.  Hence  the  tale  has  an  elegant  brevity  of  style, 
which,  in  the  crisis,  may  become  picturesquely  graphic  or 
vivid  with  dramatic  power ;  but  the  romance  has  epic  breadth 
and  dwells  on  the  circumstantial.  The  plot  of  a  good  tale 
is  in  itself  a  work  of  art ;  that  of  the  romance  is  made  so  by 
the  art  of  the  writer.  We  understand  why  the  tale  was  more 
successful  in  the  Middle  Ages,  and  the  romance  at  the  pres- 
ent time.  It  is  easier  to  repeat  a  tale,  an  anecdote,  than  a 
romance ;  on  the  other  hand  it  is  very  hard  to  invent  a  good 
tale. 

These  divisions  often  blend.  Excepting  one  episode,  the 
material  of  Sire  Degarre  would  be  well  suited  for  a  tale. 
The  style  of  many  English  romances,  on  the  contrary,  would 
recall  the  tale  if  it  did  not  much  rather  remind  us  of  the  bal- 
lad. Romances  frequently  shrink  into  tales  by  abridgment ; 
thus  the  Ro7nan  du  roi  Guillaume  later  became  a  Dit  du  roi 
Guillaume,  The  mediaeval  romance  resembles  the  saga,  as 
the  tale  does  the  fable  [Maixheji)^  but  fabulous  traditions  are 
very  often  connected  with  a  hero  of  saga,  and  likewise  saga- 
materials  are  moved  out  of  their  original  local  and  personal 
relations  back  to  the  vagueness  of  fable. 

Thanks  to  the  cosmopolitan,  simple  materials  forming  the 
subject-matter  of  the  most  ancient  occidental  tales,  no  doubt 
can  arise  as  to  their  character.  French  fiction  succeeded  in 
creating  a  corresponding  style  for  this  art-form. 

The  Yrtnch  fabliau,  with  its  lightly-flowing  short  couplets 
and  its  elegant,  often  piquant  diction,  became  a  standard  for 
the  English  tale  of  this  period.  One  of  the  most  ancient 
attempts  shows,  however,  that,  without  this  influence,  the 


TALE  OF  DAME  SIRIZ.  255 

tale  would  have  developed  as  well — though  diverging  some- 
what— in  England.  In  later  times  also  English  poets  very 
often  turned  directly  to  Latin  sources.  The  Disciplina  cleri- 
calis  and  like  compilations  had  been  circulated  in  England  in 
the  original  as  well  as  in  French  renderings.  After  the  days 
of  Henry  II.  several  collections  of  tales  in  Latin  prose  had 
been  made  on  English  ground,  or  at  least  by  English  hands. 
There  were  Walter  Map's  Nugae  Curialkwi^  Odo  of  Cerin- 
ton's  Narrationes^  the  Otia  imperialia  of  Gervase  of  Tilbury. 
Alexander  Neckam's  work,  De  naturis  rertwi,  is  also  full  of 
such  matter.  Even  mere  transcribers  began,  in  their  fashion, 
to  collect  short  Latin  stories ;  that  is,  to  write  them  together 
in  the  same  codex. 

The  English  tale  seems  to  have  begun  to  develop  first  in 
the  south-east,  in  the  region  of  Kent  or  Sussex.  There  the 
fabliau  of  Dame  Siriz,  or  Siriih,  arose,  probably  before  the 
death  of  Henry  III.  The  theme  is  an  attack  on  a  woman's 
chastity  through  threats  of  punishment  awaiting  her  in  case 
of  resistance.  The  story  plainly  bears  the  mark  of  its  Indian 
origin  ;  for  the  punishment  threatened  is  transformation  into 
an  animal,  which  points  to  the  transmigration  of  souls.  By 
making  his  heroine  come  forth  victorious  from  the  tempta- 
tion, a  later  Indian  writer  used  the  material  for  the  glorifica- 
tion of  womanly  constancy  and  conjugal  fidelity.  Another 
rendering,  tinged  with  Persian  ideas,  found  entrance  into 
several  oriental  versions  of  the  Book  of  the  Seven  Sages.  By 
means  of  an  expedient,  the  reverse  of  which  is  employed  with 
Shakspere's  Angelo,  it  reaches  a  conclusion  that  only  half 
satisfies  poetical  justice.  In  Measure  fo?' Measure  the  tempt- 
er's own  wife  is  conducted  to  him;  in  the  other  case  her 
own  husband  is  brought  to  the  woman  forced  to  yield.  The 
version  that  came  into  western  literature  has  no  satisfactory 
close.  It  there  spread  by  means  of  the  Disciplina  clericalis, 
whence  the  EngUsh  poet  directly  or  indirectly  drew  his  ma- 
terial. He  does  not  seem  to  have  used  a  French  source. 
Without  doubt  he  understood  Latin,  and  belonged  to  the 
fellowship  of  wandering  clerics.  This  is  plainly  evident  (in 
spite  of  an  occasional  malediction  on  the  procuress)  in  the 
pleasure  with  which  he  represents  one  of  his  fellows  as  suc- 

1  Here  again  it  is  not  to  be  ignored  that,  at  least  among  Odo's  fables,  some  are  to 
be  foimd  that  betray  their  passage  through  the  French. 


256  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

cessful  in  the  conquest  of  hearts.  This  conqueror,  too,  is 
named  WiUiam,  or  at  least,  Willekin.  Willekin  is  a  rich, 
aristocratic  clerc  who  has  fallen  desperately  in  love  with  a 
merchant's  wife.  The  merchant  betakes  himself  to  the  an- 
nual fair  at  Boston  in  Lincolnshire,  that  then  attracted 
tradesmen  from  far  and  near.  Willekin  takes  this  oppor- 
tunity to  visit  the  wife.  Being  kindly  received,  he  ventures 
to  express  his  wishes,  but  is  sharply  rebuffed.  Prayers 
are  as  unavailing  as  promises;  he  sadly  turns  homeward. 
On  the  advice  of  a  friend  he  applies  to  Dame  Siriz,  an 
old  procuress,  who  has  the  reputation  of  being  a  kind  of 
witch.  "  With  much  misfortune  I  lead  my  life,"  he  laments 
to  her,  "  and  that  is  for  a  sweet  wife  called  Margeri.  I  have 
loved  her  many  a  day,  and  of  her  love  she  says  me  nay; 
therefore  I  come  hither.  But  if  she  does  not  change  her 
mind,  for  sorrow  must  I  wax  mad  or  kill  myself;  therefore 
a  friend  has  counselled  me  to  go  and  tell  thee  of  my  sorrow. 
He  said  to  me  thou  couldest,  without  fail,  help  and  avail 
me  and  bring  me  out  of  woe  through  thy  craft  and  thy  deeds ; 
if  that  be  so,  I  will  give  thee  rich  meed."  The  prudent 
witch,  concerned  for  her  safety  and  her  life,  is  not  so  easily 
won  over.  With  impudent  hypocrisy,  she  makes  herself  out 
as  innocent  as  a  child  :  "  Benedicite  !  Here  hast  thou  son, 
much  sin.  The  Lord,  for  his  sweet  name,  let  thee  therefore 
have  no  shame.  Thou  servest  for  God's  anger  when  thou 
sayest  of  me  such  blame.  For  I  am  old  and  sick  and  lame ; 
sickness  has  made  me  full  tame.  ...  I  am  a  holy  woman ; 
of  witchcraft  I  know  nothing;  but  with  good  men's  alms, 
each  day  I  feed  my  life,  and  pray  my  Paternoster  and  my 
Creed ;  God  help  them  at  their  need  who  help  me  my  life 
to  lead,  and  grant  that  they  may  well  speed,  and  his  life  and 
his  soul  be  dishonoured  that  hath  sent  thee  to  me  on  this 
errand ;  may  he  grant  me  to  be  revenged  on  him  who  hath 
spoken  this  shame  on  me."  But  the  lover  will  not  be  re- 
fused. His  information  is  from  a  trustworthy  source ;  he 
repeats  his  promises  specifically,  and  talks  of  many  a  pound 
and  many  a  mark,  warm  furs,  and  warm  shoes.  Dame  Siriz 
relents.  After  she  has  once  more  satisfied  herself  that  Wil- 
lekin is  in  bitter  earnest  with  his  love,  she  requires  from  him 
a  solemn  promise  to  keep  the  matter  secret.  "  For  all  the 
world  I  would  not  that  I  were  brought  before  the  chapter 


DAME  SIRIZ.  257 

for  any  such  works.  My  judgment  would  soon  be  given  to 
be  driven  with  shame  on  the  ass,  with  priests  and  with  clerks 
at  my  back."  Willekin  promises  secrecy  by  the  holy  rood. 
Then  she  declares  herself  ready  to  help  him,  receives  from 
him  twenty  shillings,  and  makes  ready  for  the  enterprise. 
She  gives  her  little  dog  pepper  and  mustard  to  eat,  until  his 
eyes  run,  and  then  leaves  the  house  with  him,  telling  Wille- 
kin to  await  her  return.  She  drags  herself  like  a  poor  old 
woman,  tormented  by  pain  and  hunger,  to  the  merchant's 
wife.  It  is  not  hard  for  her  to  arouse  the  sympathy  of  the 
kind-hearted  housewife,  who  puts  bread,  meat,  and  wine  be- 
fore her,  and  tries  to  cheer  her.  While  eating,  however, 
she  is  more  than  ever  overcome  by  her  sorrow.  "  Alas,  alas, 
that  ever  I  live !  All  the  sin  I  would  forgive  the  man  that 
would  smite  off  my  head :  I  would  my  life  were  bereft  me  ! " 
"Poor  wife,  what  aileth  thee?"  The  old  woman  tells  her 
tale :  she  had  a  beautiful  daughter,  married  to  a  noble  man 
whom  she  loved  only  too  well.  During  the  absence  of  her 
husband,  a  clerk  tried  to  seduce  her;  but  she  repulsed  him. 
Then  he  avenged  himself  through  magic  by  transforming 
her  into  a  bitch.  "  This  is  my  daughter  of  whom  I  speak  ; 
my  heart  breaks  in  anguish  for  her.  Look  how  her  eyes 
weep,  on  her  cheek  the  tears  meet."  The  solicitude  of  the 
merchant's  wife  may  be  imagined;  she  confides  to  Dame 
Siriz  what  she  has  just  done.  "  God  Almighty  be  thy  help 
that  thou  be  neither  bitch  nor  whelp !  Dear  lady,  if  any 
clerk  offers  thee  love,  I  counsel  that  thou  grant  his  boon, 
and  become  his  lover  soon ;  and  if  thou  dost  not,  a  worse 
counsel  thou  takest."  The  woman  repents  her  action  and 
implores  Dame  Siriz  to  bring  Willekin  to  her.  Willekin  is 
soon  found,  and  this  time  has  the  wished-for  reception.  The 
poem  closes  with  a  few  vigorous  words  from  the  procuress. 
The  audacious  poet  possessed  unmistakable  talent  for 
characterisation  and  psychological  detail.  He  writes  in  a 
jovial  tone,  and  with  a  touch  from  common  life.  He  varies, 
with  dramatic  animation,  the  speakers  and  the  place  of  the 
action.  Although  his  poem  begins  in  ryine  couee^  he  quite 
frequently  changes  to  the  short  couplet. 

1  The  six-lined  strophe  that  he  uses  is  different  from  the  favourite  one  of  the  ro- 
mances. It  is  so  constructed  that  in  the  scheme,  a  a  b  c  c  b,  either  all  the  lines  have 
three  accents  or  a  and  c  have  four,  and  b  only  two.  In  the  famiHar  twelve-lined  stro- 
phe, and  the  six-lined  stanza  of  the  romances  as  well,  the  b  line  has  three  and  the 
other  lines  four  accents. 


2$S  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

Another  c/erc  belonging  to  the  same  time  and  neighbour- 
hood was  not  less  bold  and  waggish,  but  his  style  is  more 
like  that  of  the  art -poetry.  He  writes  in  correct  coup- 
lets, with  a  lucid,  dexterous  manner  and  a  delicate  shading 
of  motive.  His  material  and  ideas,  indeed,  accorded  as 
little  with  courtly  convention  as  did  those  of  his  models,  the 
French  clerics.  In  their  hands  the  animal  saga,  or  (if  the 
pre-existence  of  such  a  thing  is  questioned)  the  animal-fable, 
broadened  into  the  animal-epos,  and  became  a  homogeneous 
whole.  He  borrowed  his  subject-matter  from  a  branch  of 
the  Roman  de  Renart^  whose  ground-work  was  already  given 
in  the  antique  fable  of  the  Fox  a?id  the  Goat.  The  animial- 
epos,  however,  dealt  with  the  fox  and  the  wolf,  with  Rey- 
nard [Renart,  in  the  English  poem,  Reneuard)  and  Isen- 
grim  [Sigrim),  and  was  extended  and  modified  in  detail. 
The  English  poet  intelligently  followed  his  excellent  French 
text,  not  without  adding  something  of  his  own.  The  ab- 
sence of  various  piquant  features  of  the  original  will  be  re- 
gretted by  many ;  but  it  cannot  be  gainsaid  tha,t  his  version  is 
in  the  main  more  probable  and  better  arranged,  and  that  the 
effect  is  heightened  by  the  restoration  of  a  more  delicate 
connection  between  the  two  crises  of  the  story.  The  English 
narrative  is  a  pattern  of  simplicity  of  plan  and  relation  of 
theme.^  It  has  many  touches  of  true  psychological  insight, 
and  the  most  delightful  comic  humour.  When  we  read  it 
we  keenly  regret  that  this  poet  did  not  venture  upon  a 
greater  work  in  his  specialty;  he  could  have  created  an 
English  Rey7iard  able  to  hold  an  honourable  place  beside 
the  matchless  portrayal  of  the  Fleming  Willem,^  Rather 
than  lament,  however,  let  us  rejoice  that  in  him  we  may 
greet  one  of  the  greatest  of  Chaucer's  English  forerunners. 
Our  poet  was  Chaucer's  predecessor  not  only  as  a  master 
of  the  art  of  story-telling,  but  because  he  was  the  only  one 
known  to  us  before  Chaucer  who  worked  in  the  English 
language  upon  a  theme  from  the  animal-saga.  Latin  ani- 
mal-fables in  prose  or  verse,  plainly  showing  the  partial  in- 

*  Unfortunately  the  connecrion  is  somewhat  broken,  on  account  of  a  gap  in  the 
text  before  us,  that,  strangely  enough,  seems  not  to  have  been  noticed  before.  After  v. 
30  (or  V.  32)  several  verses  must  have  been  dropped  in  which  it  was  told  how  the  fox 
satisfied  his  hunger  upon  the  fowls  within  his  reach.  This  seems  a  natui^al  concliis''^n, 
and  it  is  very  positively  shown  in  v.  68  and  v.  98. 

?  TJie  poem  Van  den  vos  Reinaerde. 


IMITATION  OF  FRENCH  FORMS.  259 

fiuence  of  the  French  animal-epos,  are  more  frequent  in 
EngHsh  manuscripts  of  the  time. 

The  French /a d/iau  was  wont  to  draw  much  into  its  range 
that  did  not  belong  to  the  strict  epic  class,  especially  mere 
descriptions  for  the  purpose  of  satire.  England  followed 
the  example  of  France  also  in  this  respect.  K  fabliau,  with 
the  title  The  Land  of  Cokaygne,  and  composed  as  early  as 
the  thirteenth  century,  follows  French  accounts,  and  gives 
an  exhaustive  portrayal  of  the  land  of  idleness.  But  it  adds 
to  this  the  description  of  a  local  monastery  and  its  inmates, 
in  a  telling,  if  somewhat  too  drastic,  satire. 

The  Debate  of  the  Caj'penter'' s  Tools,  that  originated  near 
the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  century,  in  the  eastern  midland 
country,  belongs  to  the  class  of  estrifs  or  desbats.  An  ani- 
mated discussion  arises  among  the  tools  resting  in  a  carpen- 
ter's workshop.  The  question  is  whether  they  will  be  suc- 
cessful in  their  effort  to  keep  from  ruin  their  master,  who 
loves  beer  too  well  and  lives  too  near  the  tavern,  or  if  he  is 
too  far  gone  for  help.  The  master's  wife  takes  part  in  the 
dispute.  She  naturally  stands  with  the  pessimists,  and  at 
the  close  laments  that  she  cannot  follow  the  example  of  the 
"  draught  nayle,"  who  declares  his  intention  of  finding 
another  master. 

The  French  lai  was  also  soon  given  in  English  imitations 
to  a  larger  public.  Marie  de  France  was  the  best-known  rep- 
resentative of  this  class ;  her  attractive  Lai  le  Fresne  (the  Lay 
of  the  Ash)  was  translated  soon  after  the  beginning  of  the  four- 
teenth century.  It  was  faithfully  and  with  talent  rendered 
into  English  couplets.  With  all  their  simplicity,  the  contents 
are  quite  romantic.  The  wife  of  a  Breton  knight  has  taken  a 
friend  to  task  for  conjugal  infidelity,  because  she  has  given  birth 
to  twins,  and  has  herself  the  misfortune  to  bring  two  girls  at 
once  into  the  world.  In  order  to  escape  the  disgrace  she 
has  herself  conjured  up,  she  causes  one  of  her  children  to 
be  exposed  immediately  after  birth.  The  child  is  found  in  a 
hollow  ash  by  the  porter  of  a  neighbouring  convent,  is  bap- 
tised by  the  name  "  le  Fresne,"  and  brought  up  by  the  ab- 
bess. She  grows  to  be  a  charming  maiden,  and  wins  the 
love  of  a  young  knight,  who  succeeds  in  gaining  entrance  to 
the  cloister,  and  finally  carries  her  off  Further  on,  the 
knight  is  persuaded  to  marry  a  maiden  of  noble  blood,  and, 


200  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

as  fate  has  it,  she  is  the  own  sister  of  his  beloved.  Poor  le 
Fresne  thus  stands  in  almost  the  same  relation  to  her  sister 
that  the  heroine  of  the  later  Griseldis-saga  bears  toward 
her  daughter.  Loving  and  unselfish  as  Griseldis,  much  too 
unselfish  for  our  modern  sense,  le  Fresne  endures  her  hard 
fate  with  a  broken  heart,  but  without  one  word  of  com- 
plaint, and  on  the  wedding  day  she  is  busier  than  any  other 
servant.  She  looks  at  the  prepared  nuptial  bed,  and,  finding 
it  too  unadorned  for  the  beautiful  bride,  spreads  over  it  the 
gold- embroidered  cloth  in  which  she  herself  was  once  ex- 
posed. This  leads  to  her  recognition.  Her  sister  volun- 
tarily yields.  The  marriage  just  concluded  is  made  null  by 
the  bishop,  and  le  Fresne  gives  her  hand  to  her  lover  as  his 
wife. 

The  story  of  Orfeo  and  Hetirodis,  dating  from  about  the 
same  time,  appears  also  under  the  name  of  Lai,  and  with 
the  consequent  claim  to  Breton  origin.  It  is  difficult  to 
recognise  Orpheus  and  Eurydice  in  these  names;  the  sub- 
ject-matter, the*  dress  and  mounting  of  the  legend  are  not 
less  travestied  than  the  names.  The  travesty,  however,  is 
throughout  naive,  and  is  based  upon  such  a  complete  appro- 
priation and  adjustment  of  the  antique  material  to  mediaeval 
views  that  this  charming  poem  seems  like  a  fairy  tale  of 
natural  growth.  The  lower  world  is  transformed  into  a 
fairy  kingdom.  In  company  with  the  king  of  fairies  and  his 
train,  Eurydice  by  chance  visits  the  dense  wood  to  which 
Orpheus  has  withdrawn  after  the  loss  of  his  wife.  Both 
weep  at  sight  of  each  other,  for  Eurydice  recognises  her 
husband,  despite  his  savage  aspect,  and  his  hair  rolling  down 
below  his  girdle.  Eurydice  is  quickly  transported  again  to 
the  enchanted  land.  But  Orpheus  follows  her,  and  sees  her 
disappear  through  a  rock.  He  too  ventures  into  the  dark 
cavern,  supposed  to  be  three  miles  deep.  He  soon  reaches 
luminous  fairy-land,  and  perceives  a  palace  glittering  with 
gold  and  precious  stones.  He  craves  entrance  as  a  minstrel. 
In  the  hall  he  begins  to  touch  his  harp  in  the  presence  of 
the  king,  who  wonders  no  less  at  his  appearance  than  did 
many  an  inmate  of  hell  at  Dante's  entrance.  The  king 
listens  in  deep  silence  to  his  playing,  and  under  the  spell  of 
its  tones,  asks  the  harper  to  name  his  own  reward.  Orpheus 
demands  Eurydice,  and  leaves  fairy-land  with  her.     He  then 


Metrical  tales.  2  6 1 

returns  to  his  home,  where  he  makes  himself  known,  having 
made  sure  of  the  fideUty  of  the  servants  he  left  there. 

All  these  poems  show  the  direct  influence  of  French  po- 
etry. Perhaps  the  one  relating  "How  a  merchant  did  his 
wife  betray  "  is  an  exception.  The  theme  in  which  true  and 
pretended  affections,  put  to  the  proof,  appear,  after^long  misun- 
derstanding, as  they  really  are,  is  a  familiar  one,  and,  in  the 
sense  of  a  test  of  friendship,  is  especially  frequent  in  mediae- 
val literature.  This  poem  turns  upon  the  contrast  between 
the  neglected  faithful  wife,  and  the  preferred  greedy  mistress 
of  a  rich  merchant.^  The  merchant  undertakes  a  journey. 
At  his  departure  his  wife  begs  him  to  buy  her  a  penny's  worth 
of  wit.  On  the  way  he  gives  the  penny  to  an  old  man,  and 
at  his  advice,  makes  the  love  test.  The  test  consists  in  his 
representing  himself,  on  his  return,  as  entirely  impoverished, 
and  seeking  protection  from  the  consequences  of  homicide. 
We  may  imagine  how  he  is  received  by  his  paramour,  and 
his  very  different  reception  by  his  wife.  The  merchant  once 
more  goes  to  his  mistress,  this  time  in  rich  clothing.  As  a 
matter  of  course,  she  repents  her  former  conduct,  and  wishes, 
if  possible,  to  retrieve  it.  He  succeeds  by  a  stratagem  in 
obtaining  all  the  presents  he  has  made  her,  and  he  takes 
these  to  his  wife  as  her  penny's  worth.  The  penny  and  its 
adventures  is  the  type  of  the  English  tale,  and  gives  to  later 
versions  the  title  A  Pennyworth  of  Wit  for  21ie  Chapman 
of  a  Pcjinyworth  of  Wit).  Our  poem  is  set  in  a  naive  ballad 
key.  It  is  written  in  couplets,  like  almost  all  the  tales  of  this 
period;  but  these  are  unmistakably  grouped  in  strophes,  and 
were  sung,  as  appears  from  the  opening. 

Many  of  the  shorter  stories  of  the  time  have  doubtless 
been  lost;  for  anything  of  limited  compass  is  not  likely  to 
be  written  down,  and  is  readily  destroyed  when  written. 

An  imperfect  indemnity  for  the  loss  of  single  tales  is  the 
preservation  of  a  compilation  of  tales.  The  proces  of  the  sevyn 
sages, — imperfect  because  nothing  can  compensate  for  the 
originality  of  form  and  treatment  possible  in  even  the  short- 
est poem.  This  collection  was  made  towards  the  beginning 
of  the  fourteenth  century,  from  one  of  the  many  versions  of 
the  Ro77ia7i  des  sept  sages. 

'  The  title,  as  we  see,  only  expresses  the  perfidy  of  the  merchant,  and  by  no  means 
indicates  the  substance  of  the  story. 


202  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

The  story,  enclosing  the  short  tales  like  a  frame,  is  as  fol- 
lows :  The  emperor  Diocletian  of  Rome,  after  the  death  of 
his  consort,  entrusts  his  son  Florentine  to  seven  wise  masters 
to  be  educated.  They  instruct  him  at  a  retired  spot  near 
Rome,  in  all  arts  and  sciences.  The  emperor,  by  the  ad- 
vice of  his  barons,  marries  a  second  time.  After  a  long 
period  the  new  empress  learns  of  the  existence  of  a  son  by 
the  first  marriage.  She  resolves,  in  the  interest  of  her  own 
children,  upon  Florentine's  destruction.  To  accomplish  her 
purpose,  she  persuades  the  emperor  to  have  his  son  come  to 
him.  Florentine  arrives  at  court  with  his  teachers;  but  in 
order  to  escape  a  misfortune  prophesied  by  the  stars,  he 
speaks  not  a  word  for  seven  days.  The  stepmother  makes 
good  use  of  this  time,  and  the  seven  sages  are  forced  to 
summon  all  their  art  to  work  against  her  machinations.  The 
empress  plays  the  role  of  Potiphar's  wife.  The  immediate 
execution  of  his  son  intended  by  the  emperor  is  postponed 
at  the  remonstrance  of  the  seven  wise  men.  Then  follows  a 
seven-days'  struggle  for  the  life  of  Florentine.  The  empress 
relates  seven  stories  in  her  cause.  The  effect  of  each  of 
them,  however,  is  neutralised  by  one  of  the  seven  stories 
told  by  the  seven  masters  successively.  The  tales  of  the 
empress  are  intended  to  inspire  Diocletian  with  mistrust  and 
fear  of  his  son,  as  well  as  of  his  wise  counsellors.  The 
stories  of  the  sages  warn  him  against  hasty  action,  by  which 
innocence  may  be  punished,  and  against  the  cunning  of 
women.  At  the  close,  Florentine,  who  may  now  again 
speak,  himself  tells  a  story  that  has  a  certain  bearing  upon 
his  own  position,  and  finally  discloses  his  stepmother's  guilt. 
The  empress  makes  a  confession,  and  dies  by  fire. 

Though  the  connecting  story  differs  widely  from  its  first 
model  and  is  quite  unlike  it  in  livery  and  in  colouring, 
the  disparity  between  India  and  England  seems  still  greater 
when  we  consider  the  single  tales.  Among  the  fifteen  con- 
tained in  the  Enghsh  version  are  only  three,  or  at  the  most 
four,  that  belong  to  the  oriental  parent  stock  of  the  Book  of 
the  Seven  IVise  Men.  In  the  other  cases  the  original  tales 
have  been  supplanted  by  new  ones ;  but  these  are,  as  a  rule, 
not  less  ancient,  and  many  can  also  lay  claim  to  Indian  der- 
ivation. Thus  unceasing  change  in  the  material  of  old 
formations  leaves  hardly  more  than  their  outlines,  and  old 
material  is  constantly  used  to  create  new  formations. 


täE  SEVEN  SAGES.  26$ 

Many  a  familiar  theme  is  treated  in  a  new  manner ;  and 
many  a  well-known  name  is  applied  to  unaccustomed  objects 
and  persons.  Thus  we  recognise  the  treasure-house  of 
Rhampsinitus  in  the  treasure-tower  of  the  emperor  Octavian 
[Octovie?i).  One  of  the  seven  wise  men  of  Rome,  with  his 
son,  gains  entrance  into  the  tower,  but  at  a  second  attempt, 
sticks  fast  in  a  moat  filled  with  viscous  substances.  In  order 
to  save  himself  from  exposure,  he  causes  his  son  to  cut  off 
his  head.  The  son  throws  the  head  into  a  pit,  and  succeeds 
by  his  craftiness  in  diverting  suspicion  from  himself  and  his 
family.  The  reckless  conduct  of  this  son,  as  regards  his 
father,  is  intended  to  prejudice  the  emperor  Diocletian  against 
his  son  Florentine. 

The  next  tale  tells  the  old  but  ever  new  story  of  the  locked- 
out  husband,  which  Boccaccio  relates  in  his  Decameron^  and 
centuries  after,  Moliere,  first  in  a  youthful  production,  and 
afterwards  in  George  Dandin. 

Again  we  meet  the  celebrated  physician  Ypocras  {Hippo- 
crates), who  appears  as  the  murderer  of  his  own  more  learned 
nephew,  is  punished  for  his  deed  by  dysentery,  and  dying, 
openly  confesses  his  guilt. 

MerHn  steps  upon  the  scene  in  the  eleventh  narrative,  ^lis 
time  as  counsellor  of  King  Herod  of  Rome;  while  the  ninth 
turns  upon  the  magic  arts  of  the  necromancer  Virgil  at 
Rome. 

The  EngHsh  renderer  of  the  Sevy?i  Sages  invented  nothing 
of  all  this.  Not  only  were  the  materials  dispersed  in  num- 
berless mediaeval  versions ;  they  had  all  been  definitely  cast 
before,  and  placed  in  The  Seven  Wise  Masters.  The  most 
important  changes  undergone  by  this  book  took  place  partly 
in  the  East,  and  partly  in  the  translation  into  Latin,  and 
while  in  that  language.  The  French  remodellers  chiefly  ar- 
ranged the  stories,  and  the  details  of  the  whole.  The  Eng- 
lish poet  can  claim  only  the  merits  of  a  more  or  less  faithful 
translation. 

A  most  exhaustive  examination  would  be  necessary  more 
exactly  to  determine  the  home  of  this  translation ;  but  it  is 
certainly  to  be  sought  in  eastern  England.  The  style  is  fluent, 
and  the  short  couplets  are  evenly  constructed.  Unusual 
talent  is  nowhere  evident. 

At  the  time  when  the  Historia  septem  sapientum  Romae 


264  PROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

took  on  an  English  dress,  the  first  beginnings  of  another  great 
compilation  in  Latin  already  existed. 

The  preachers,  and  especially  the  mendicant  fiiars,  had 
long  been  in  the  habit  of  making  use  of  ^sopian  fables  and 
other  tales  in  the  pulpit.  Stories  of  various  kinds,  roman- 
tic, allegorical,  or  legendary,  were  compiled  for  the  moral 
edification  of  inmates  of  monasteries.  Roman  history,  or 
the  later  Roman  writers,  were  often  searched  for  suitable 
material.  A  collection  of  stories  drawn  from  such  sources, 
fitted  out  with  moral  application  or  mystical  interpretation, 
formed  the  ground-work  of  the  Gesta  RomaJiorwn.  later  so 
celebrated.  Other  materials  were  very  soon  added;  indeed, 
extraneous  matter  may  have  been  incorporated  with,  or  sub- 
joined to,  the  original  collection.  In  the  versions  that  have 
reached  us  hardly  anything  justifies  the  title  save  the  fre- 
quent references  to  the  reign  of  some  Roman  emperor  of  the 
old  or  the  new  era;  names  like  Conrad,  Frederick,  Henry 
II.,  also  occur. 

The  foundation  of  the  Gesta  Romafiorum  was  most  prob- 
ably laid  in  England  during  the  reign  of  Edward  I. 

Inexhaustible  material  was  thus  continually  gathered  for 
future  centuries.  Cervantes,  Shakspere,  all  the  literature  of 
the  Renaissance,  largely  subsisted  on  the  resources  stored 
during  the  Middle  'Ages.  But  the  farther  course  of  the  four- 
teenth century  clothed  a  great  part  of  this  matter  in  forms 
that  belong  to  universal  literature,  because  they  are  imperish- 
able. Such  success,  however,  was  possible  in  that  time  only 
in  the  tale. 

This  was  the  only  class  of  epic  writing  still  capable  of 
the  highest  development  in  the  Middle  Ages;  for  the  old 
epos  had  long  ago  vanished  forever,  and  the  poet  of  the 
JDivine  Comedy  had  died  in  the  year  132 1. 

IV. 

With  the  legend  we  enter  upon  the  field  of  specifically  re- 
ligious, ecclesiastical  poetry.  The  religious  epic  in  this 
period  had  an  abundance  and  variety  of  forms  and  topics, 
which,  unfortunately,  found  no  corresponding  abundance  and 
variety  of  poetic  talent.  Legendary  matter  from  the  most 
diverse  centuries  and  places  poured  in  from  all  sides.     Ideas 


RELIGIOUS  LEGENDS.  265 

and  themes  familiar  of  old  are  found  side  by  side  with  those 
which  the  stricter  tendency  of  Old  English  theology  had 
been  able  to  banish,  but  to  which  the  doors  were  now 
opened  wide  in  consequence  of  growing  passion  for  author- 
ship, waning  erudition  and  increasing  belief  in  the  mar- 
vellous. Thus  we  have  the  attractive  legend  of  the  Assump- 
tion of  the  Virgin^  that  originated  in  the  East  during  the 
second  half  of  the  fourth  century,  and  had  received  the 
freedom  of  Norman  England  since  its  rendition  in  the  sec- 
ond quarter  of  the  twelfth  century  by  the  trouvere  Wace.^ 
There  is  the  legend  of  the  Childhood  of  y^esiis,  blending  the 
charming  and  the  fantastic ;  this  likewise  reaches  back  far 
into  the  early  Christian  time.  On  the  flight  into  Egypt, 
dragons  and  lions  pay  homage  to  the  divine  child.  The 
tree  under  whose  shade  the  holy  family  rest  bends  low  at 
the  command  of  Jesus,  to  give  its  fruit  to  the  hungering  and 
thirsty  Mary,  while  refreshing  water  bubbles  forth  from  its 
roots.  Later  the  Saviour  performs  the  most  extraordinary 
miracles ;  he  forms  twelve  flies  from  moist  earth,  seats  him- 
self upon  a  sunbeam,  and  the  like,  and  he  manifests  his 
power  over  life  and  death  on  countless  occasions. 

The  Legend  of  the  Holy  Rood^  so  much  loved  by  the  Eng- 
lish previous  to  the  Conquest,  had  gained  new  significance 
from  the  crusades.  A  rich  literature  is  connected  with  this 
beautiful,  ever  changing  and  expanding  tradition,  which  be- 
gins in  paradise  and  goes  on  after  the  finding  of  the  cross 
by  St.  Helena. 

Such  themes  as  Christ's  descent  into  hell  in  the  Evangeli- 
tim  Nicodemi  or  the  Visio  Patdi,  continued  to  exercise  their 
old  charm.  To  them  may  be  added  the  Purgatory  of  St. 
Patrick  (the  legend  of  Owain)  and  the  widely  disseminated 
and  well-known  legend  of  Tungdalus.  The  oft-sung  virgin 
martyrs,  Margaret  and  Katharine,  soon  reappeared,  and 
they  were  joined  by  the  penitent  sinner,  Mary  Magdalen, 
and  the  "  good  sinner,"  Gregory. 

The  Story  of  Gregory  differs  from  the  great  majority  of 
legends  by  its  profundity  and  the  poetic  spirit  which  can 

1  The  Legend  of  the  Assui)iptio7i  of  the  Virgin  was  not  unfamiliar  to  Old  English 
literature,  as  the  publication  of  the  Blickling  Hojiiilies  has  markedly  shown,  (compare 
p.  \-i']  et  seq.  ed.  Morris). 

2  In  the  poem  on  the  Conception  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  in  which  the  contents  giv« 
aiuch  more  than  the  title  promises. 


266  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

glorify  a  horrible  subject  in  the  glow  of  religion.  Gregory, 
a  child  of  shame,  is  put  into  a  boat  by  his  mother  imme- 
diately after  his  birth,  and  consigned  to  the  sea.  Having 
grown  up  in  ignorance  of  his  descent,  he  becomes,  like  a 
second  CEdipus,  the  liberator  of  his  country  and  the  hus- 
band of  his  mother.  When  the  truth  comes  to  light,  he  ex- 
piates the  guilt  thus  innocently  incurred  by  severe  penance 
for  seventeen  years.  At  last,  chosen  pope  of  Rome  by 
divine  command,  he  has  as  such  the  happiness  to  pronounce 
to  his  own  mother  the  forgiveness  of  her  crime.  This  sub- 
ject was  worked  over  from  the  French  into  English  verse  in 
the  north  midland,  probably  not  long  after  the  middle  of  the 
thirteenth  century.  Both  the  character  and  poetic  treat- 
ment of  the  legend  lie  on  the  boundary  between  ecclesi- 
astical and  secular  epic  poetry. 

A  series  of  legends  much  resembling  the  tale,  and  deserv- 
ing the  name  of  contes  devots,  do  not  treat  of  the  life  or 
death  of  a  saint,  but  of  any  miracle  that  breaks  into  the 
ordinary  course  of  life.  The  Virgin  Mary,  especially,  was 
made  by  the  piety  of  the  Middle  Ages  to  work  such  miracles 
in  favour  of  her  devotees. 

A  southern  manuscript, — the  well-known  Vernon  m.anu- 
script  in  Oxford, — has  preserved  eight  or  nine  of  a  large 
number  of  Legends  of  the  Virgin  that  perhaps  originated  in 
the  first  half  of  the  fourteenth  century  in  the  west  midland ; 
most  if  not  all  of  them  may  have  come  from  French  sources. 

It  had  long  been  a  national  custom  in  France  to  recite 
rhymed  lives  of  the  saints,  either  during  the  mass,  or,  where 
the  Roman  curia  had  been  able  to  prohibit  this,  at  least 
during  the  evening  service.  In  England  the  way  for  this 
custom  was  prepared  by  Aelfric's  alliterative  homilies,  and 
it  found  speedy  entrance  there,  calling  forth  ever  renewed 
demand  and  production.  Each  ecclesiastical  holiday  was, 
if  possible,  to  be  solemnised  by  its  special  legend  in  English 
verse. 

This  demand  was  first  most  decidedly  met  in  the  south, 
and  there  the  legend  gradually  grew  fixed  in  form. 

Three  metres  claim  consideration  for  the  reHgious  epic  of 
this  period :  the  short  couplet,  the  long  line  varying  from 
Alexandrine  to  tetrameter,  and  the  7yme  couee.  The  last 
form,  originally  employed  only  for  lyrics,  seems  not  to  have 


METRE  OE  THE  RELIGIOUS  EPIC.  '  267 

appeared  in  the  legend  until  toward  the  close  of  the  thir- 
teenth century,  when  ballad-singers  introduced  it  into  the 
romance  of  chivalry.  The  use  of  the  ry^ne  coiiee,  or  tail- 
rhyme,  was  much  less  general  in  religious  narrative,  however, 
than  in  secular.  It  was  made  available  only  in  isolated 
classes  of  subjects,  as  the  Visio  Pauli,  the  Ascension  of  the 
Virgin^  the  Owain  legends,  and  the  like;  and  in  some  of 
these  cases  but  temporarily.  The  tyme  couee  occurs  still 
more  rarely  in  the  true  lives  of  the  saints.  But  it  was  used 
in  the  more  ancient  versions  of  the  life  of  St.  Alexius ;  at 
first,  in  six-lined  strophes,  and  later,  plainly  affected  by  glee- 
men's  poetry,  in  stanzas  of  twelve  lines. 

The  short  couplet  was  of  greater  moment  in  the  religious 
epic.  It  was  the  metre  of  the  older  versions  of  the  Ascen- 
sion of  the  Virgi7i,  of  which  the  southern  original  must  have 
arisen  soon  after  1250.  The  Childhood  of  Jestcs  (Laud 
manuscript.  No.  108),  as  well  as  most  of  the  legends  of  the 
Virgin,  were  also  written  in  short  couplets,  and  such  sub- 
jects as  the  Visio  Pauli  and  the  Evangelium  Nicodemi  were 
mainly  treated  in  this  form.  More  comprehensive  writings 
from  the  biblical  narrative,  as  the  story  of  Adam  and  his 
sons,  were  most  simply  presented  in  this  metre.  Neither 
was  it  unknown  to  lives  of  the  saints;  a  version  of  the 
legend  of  St.  Magdalena,  dating  from  near  the  beginning  of 
the  fourteenth  century,  was  composed  in  short  couplets,  and 
these  soon  came  into  general  use  in  Northumbria. 

In  the  south,  however,  lives  of  the  saints  seem,  from  the 
first,  to  have  been  written  chiefly  in  a  verse  that  may  be 
termed  the  Middle  English  Alexandrine,  having  six  or  seven, 
and  even  eight  accents.  Regular  septe?ia7ii  or  tetrameters 
are  more  rarely  found;  when  they  occur  the  end-rhyme 
usually  consorts  with  a  middle-rhyme,  especially  in  the 
tetrameter,  that  thus  became  the  basis  of  a  strophe  of  short 
verses  with  alternating  rhyme.  The  long  Hne  first  appears  in 
single-rhymed,  four-lined  strophes;  they  were  the  natural 
outcome  of  the  form-development  observed  at  the  close  of 
the  last  period  in  works  like  the  Passio7i.  At  about  1270 
the  legend  of  St.  Margaret,  and,  not  much  later,  those 
of  St.  Katharine  and  Mary  Magdalen  were  cast  in  such 
strophes.  Tetrameters,  thus  joined,  and  broken  by  the  mid- 
dle rhyme,  yielded  the  eight-lined  strophe  of  the  Gregorian 


1 


26$  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECV. 

legend.'  The  lives  of  the  saints  proper,  however,  gradually 
abandoned  the  somewhat  difficult  form  of  four  like  end- 
rhymes  in  favour  of  Alexandrines,  merely  rhymed  in  pairs. 

By  the  same  time,  the  single  legends  were  beginning  to  be 
united  in  a  Cycle  connected  with  the  feast-days  of  the  church 
year.  The  Alexandrine  couplet  became,  therefore,  the  metre 
of  the  Lege?id-cycle.  For  this  cycle  a  number  of  saints'  lives 
were  put  into  English  for  the  first  time,  and  others  were 
translated  anew;  but  occasionally  the  compiler  was  content 
to  take  up  earlier  translations,  with  some  alterations.  Ex- 
isting poetical  versions  and  interpretations  of  Gospel  texts  in 
the  Christmas  and  Easter  cycles  were  also  put  to  use,  and 
longer  Advent  and  passion  poems  arose  from  their  combina- 
tion. Thus  a  complete  liber  festivalis  was  composed  in 
English  verse.  This  has  come  to  us  in  various  manuscripts  ; 
but,  unfortunately,  they  are  usually  broken  by  gaps,  and 
there  is  always  a  difference  in  arrangement,  in  readings,  and 
even  in  the  subject-matter.^ 

The  origin  of  this  compilation  mainly  dates  from  the  last 
quarter  of  the  thirteenth  century.  It  was  completed  in  the 
south,  as  already  indicated,  and  chiefly  in  those  western 
countries  where  the  southern  dialect  makes  a  deep  incision 
toward  the  north  into  the  midland  country.  \ye  may  regard 
the  great  monastery  at  Gloucester  as  the  centre,  the  home, 
of  this  literary  movement,  whose  surge  made  itself  felt  far 
away. 

The  sources  from  which  materials  flowed  to  the  monks  of 
Gloucester  were  various.  The  great  part  of  them  were, 
doubtless,  'written  in  Latin.  French  poems  may  also  have 
been  occasionally  used,  but  this  influence  is,  on  the  whole, 
more  perceptible  in  isolated  legends.  A  direct  eflect  upon 
this  later  Legend-cycle  from  English  works  of  earlier  periods 
could  hardly  be  proved.  The  progressive  changes  in  lan- 
guage finally  made  it  impossible  to  comprehend  them,  and 
the  tremendous  mass  of  Latin  material  made  their  use  un- 
necessary. Thus  the  lives  of  national  English  saints,  of  an 
Austin,  a  Swithin,  a  Kenelm,  an  Edmund,  a  Dunstan,  came 
to  our  legend  poets  in  a  Latin  dress. 

*  Maxy  Magdalen  (contained  in  the  Laud  MS.)  seems  to  be  written  in  tetrameters ; 
the  middle-rhyme  also  frequenüy  appears,  but  not  consistendy  throughout,  so  that  the 
short  line  was  not  yet  fully  developed. 

2  In  the  later  copies  much  quite  extraneous  matter,  often  clothed  in  other  metrical 
forms,  is  found  in  the  Cycle, 


SCOPE  OF  THE  CYCLE  OF  LEGENDS.         269 

At  the  time  when  their  activity  was  at  its  height,  the  Ital- 
ian Jacobus  a  Voragine,  bishop  of  Genoa,  wrote  a  similar 
legend-cycle  in  Latin  prose,  with  the  title  Legenda  aiirea. 
The  exact  correspondence  between  his  work  and  that  of 
some  of  the  English  legends,  as  shown,  for  instance,  in  the 
lives  of  Christopher  and  Margaret,  has  given  rise  to  the 
theory  that  the  Golden  Legetid  was  the  source  of  many  of 
the  English  lives  of  saints.  It  is  to  be  remembered,  how- 
ever, that  Jacobus  a  Voragine  often,  without  scruple,  copied 
older  texts,  so  that  this  correspondence  may  arise  from  a  use 
of  the  same  authorities. 

What  a  far-reaching  view  into  extremes  of  time  and  place 
is  opened  to  us  when  we  turn  over  the  leaves  of  this  Middle 
English  cycle  of  legends !  On  the  one  hand,  the  distant 
Orient,  on  the  other,  Ireland ;  the  era  of  the  founding  of  the 
church,  or  still  earlier  epochs,  and  the  thirteenth  century ! 
Archbishop  Edmund  of  Canterbury,  who  died  in  1242  and 
was  canonised  in  1246,  has  a  place  here  beside  his  name- 
patron,  the  East  Anghan   king  and  martyr,  Edmund. 

Equal  diversity  is  evident  when  we  compare  the  character 
and  import  of  the  single  legends.  Now  we  have  the  most 
delicate  poesy,  the  most  fervent  depth  of  feeling ;  now  gro- 
tesque, even  repulsive,  scenes,  and  fantastic  miracles.  These 
elements  are  sometimes  united,  and  we  are  reminded  of  the 
necessity  of  laying  aside  our  modern  aesthetic  standard,  if  we 
wish  to  do  justice  to  the  fancy  of  earlier  days. 

It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  the  farther  the  Middle  Age 
progressed,  the  more  the  legend-forming  power  was  palsied, 
and  that  in  the  same  degree  as  the  church  became  secularised, 
religious  fancy  seemed  to  become  gross  and  alien  to  its 
theme.  The  accounts  of  miracles  grew  continually  more 
prodigious ;  old  motives  were  varied  and  loaded  down  with 
monotonous  exaggerations;  the  role  given  to  the  devil  in  the 
world  became  ever  more  prominent. 

But  the  cheering  reverse  side  was  not  wanting.  In  the 
midst  of  this  degeneracy  of  official  churchdom,  the  religious 
feeling  of  select  spirits,  greatly  refined  and  ennobled,  rose  to 
the  regions  of  mysticism ;  and  the  impulse  of  enlightenment 
asserted  itself  in  various  forms  and  degrees,  including  a  kind 
of  criticism,  however  modest  and  at  times  timid  it  might  be. 
In  our  English  legends,  too,  there  are  occasional  traces  of 


270  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECV. 

such  criticism,  as  in  the  Hfe  of  St.  Margaret.  According  to 
the  story,  the  devil  comes  in  the  shape  of  a  dragon  into  the 
cell  of  the  saint  and  swallows  her;  she,  however,  makes  the 
sign  of  the  cross ;  the  body  of  the  monster  bursts ;  and  the 
virgin  steps  forth  unhurt.  The  poet  thereupon  remarks,  in 
harmony  with  Jacobus  a  Voragine :  "  But  I  do  not  tell  this 
for  true,  for  I  do  not  find  it  truly  authenticated.  If  it  is  true 
or  not,  who  can  know  ?  It  would  be  against  nature  that 
the  devil  should  be  brought  to  death ;  for  he  is  capable  of 
suffering  no  kind  of  death;  hence  I  cannot  believe  it.  Also 
this  I  do  not  believe,  that  his  might  would  be  strong  enough 
to  take  up  in  his  body  so  holy  a  creature."  ^ 

There  was  still  another  remedy  against  the  fear  of  the  en- 
croaching dominion  of  the  devil.  For  a  long  time  men  had 
not  hesitated  to  treat  the  evil  spirit  with  a  kind  of  humour. 
How  sadly  for  him  ends  the  temptation  that  he  has  prepared 
for  St.  Dunstan !  He  comes  in  the  form  of  a  beautiful  wom- 
an to  the  holy  abbot,^  who  is,  as  usual,  spending  his  leisure 
hours  at  work  in  his  smithy.  Dunstan  converses  with  the 
apparition  in  a  friendly  manner,  until  a  pair  of  tongs  he  has 
laid  in  the  fire,  are  glowing  with  heat.  Then  he  takes  them, 
and  with  quick,  skilful  clasp,  pinches  the  devil's  nose  be- 
tween them,  and  squeezes  and  shakes  it  with  the  red-hot  iron 
until  the  evil  one  howls  and  dances  with  pain,  and,  after  his 
fortunate  liberation,  hurries  away,  with  the  loud  cry :  "  Out, 
what  has  the  bald-head  done!  what  has  the  bald-head 
done!" 

Such  stories  put  the  faithful  into  a  state  of  serene  edifica- 
tion. With  w^hat  satisfaction,  hov/ever,  must  they  have  heard 
legends  like  that  of  A.  Christopher^  from  whose  finest  features, 
stamped  with  its  sign  manual,  the  Teutonic  spirit  seems  to 
radiate !  It  must  have  been  a  consoling  conviction  to  the 
brave  heart  that  the  arch-enemy  was  not  the  most  powerful 
on  earth ;  that  it  could  choose  Him  for  its  Lord  under 
Avhose  banner  all  foes  might  be  defied. 

A  somewhat  detailed  description  of  the  nature  and  work- 
ings of  bad  spirits  is  found  in  the  legend  of  the  Archangel 
Michael.  This  legend,  part  of  which  seems  to  be  of  Nor- 
man origin,^  turns  on  the  miracles  to  which  the  shrines  on 

•  St.  Marga7et,  v.  165,  et  seq. 
'  St  J^unstafi,  V.  70,  ei  scg. 

*  AU  indications  go  to  show  that  the  legend  of  the  apparition  of  St  Michael  on 


LEGEND  OF  THE  ARCHANGEL  MICHAEL.  27  I 

Mount  Gargan  and  the  rocky  island  of  Tumba  owe  their  ex- 
istence. Then  directly  follows  the  account  of  Michael's^  fight 
with  the  dragon,  the  evil  one,  whom  the  archangel  flings 
down  from  heaven  into  hell.  The  poet  next  enters  upon  a 
demonological  excursus.  His  theory  blends  ancient  eccle- 
siastical traditions  and  echoes  from  Teutonic  paganism.  We 
learn  of  the  ten  angel  hierarchies,  of  the  fall  of  Lucifer  and 
his  followers,  and  how  God  created  the  race  of  man  to  fill 
the  void  left  in  the  primitive  order ;  all  this  is  in  accordance 
with  the  system  of  Gregory  the  Great,  as  Caedmon  had  al- 
ready presented  it  in  English  verse.  We  are  also  instructed 
in  the  various  transition  stages  from  good  to  bad  spirits,  and 
as  to  the  abode  and  fortunes  of  each  species.  We  hear  of 
the  agency  of  demons,  of  the  nightmare  that  rides  men  at 
night,  of  the  elves  that  inhabit  the  woods  by  day,  the  high 
hills  by  night,  and  are  often  seen  in  secret  places  in  great 
numbers,  dancing  and  playing.  The  poet  exhaustively 
discusses  the  power  'of  the  devil  over  men,  and  his  man- 
ner of  tempting  them.  Before  the  birth  of  Christ,  the  evil 
one  was  able  to  do  what  he  would ;  had  he  then  been  as 
fierce  as  afterwards,  hardly  one  would  have  escaped.  But 
his  fury  and  his  hunger  have  grown  since  Christ  bound  him, 
as  when  one  chains  a  dog.  Woe  to  the  man  who  approaches 
him,  who  turns  his  thoughts  to  evil !  Him  he  endeavours  to 
draw  to  himself,  first  by  the  little  finger  (Luttle  mon),  in  that 
he  shows  forth  the  insignificance  of  the  intended  sin;  next 
with  the  "  Leech  "  (the  ring-finger,  so  called  because  physi- 
cians tested  medicine  with  it),  by  reminding  him  of  God's 
goodness  and  mercy.  If  this  does  not  ensnare,  he  employs 
"  Longueman,"  the  middle  finger,  telling  men  a  very  long 
life  lies  before  them  in  which  to  repent  of  sins.  Then  the 
"  Techere's  "  turn  comes,  pointing  to  the  sins  of  others,  es- 
pecially   of  saints.      At    last    the   evil    one    tempts    with 

Mount  Tumba  (Mont  Saint  Michel)  was  developed  by  the  Normans  and  applied,  as 
jxirallel,  to  the  apparition  on  Mount  Gargan.  According  to  Odo  of  Glanfeuil's  His- 
toria  trattslationis  S.  Mauri  (868),  there  was,  it  is  true,  a  local  tradition  in  the  terri- 
tory of  Avranches,  in  pre-Norman  times,  that  connected  the  name  of  the  archangel 
with  that  place  {de  loco  sancti  angeli Michaelis  qici  Ad  duas  vacatur  Tumbas,  Acta 
S  S.  Jan.  15,  /.  1052^.  But  what  this  tradition  really  was  is  not  known,  and  the 
writers  of  the  ninth  century  making  mention  of  the  apparition  on  Mount  Gargan,  al- 
lude in  no  way  to  the  other  vision,  even  including  those  who  lived  near  the  spot  where 
it  is  said  to  have  appeared.  That  part  of  the  legend  pertaining  to  Mount  Gargan  was 
well  known  to  the  Old  English  church  as  early  as  the  days  of  Beda.  The  most  an- 
cient English  account  of  it  is  probably  found  in  tiie  BUckling  Homilies,  p.  197,  et  seq 


272  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

"  Strongue,"  the  thumb  :  "  Thou  art  strong  enough  to  repent 
much  greater  sins  than  these." 

Fortunately  for  us,  the  poet  does  not  stop  with  this  theory 
of  demons.  He  finally  gives  a  complete  cosmology,  in  con- 
nection with  the  description  of  the  abyss  of  hell,  that  forms 
ilfoTido  delV  wiiverso  with  him  as  with  Dante,  and  lies  in  the 
centre  of  the  earth.  Many  attempts  in  this  direction  had 
been  made  since  the  time  of  Beda,  some  of  them  in  the  Eng- 
lish language.  Nevertheless,  I  know  of  no  other  work  that 
combines  such  diverse  topics  in  such  small  compass.  If  the 
poet  had  no  complete  text  at  his  disposal,  which  he  only 
needed  to  translate,  he  must  have  been  a  man  of  no  slight 
knowledge.  At  all  events,  it  is  significant  that  such  endeav- 
ours were  made  in  the  native  land  and  in  the  age  of  Roger 
Bacon. 

According  to  this  system,  which  is  based  on  the  Ptolemaic, 
the  earth  forms  the  centre  of  the  universe.  It  is  much  smaller 
than  the  smallest  of  the  fixed  stars,  one  hundred  and  sixt}- 
five  times  smaller  than  the  sun,  and  nine  times  larger  than 
the  moon.  The  heavens  move  in  eight  spheres  around  the 
earth,  which  is  as  round  as  an  apple,  and  is  suspended  in  the 
universe  like  the  yolk  in  an  egg.  The  uppermost  sphere, 
immeasura.bly  distant  from  the  centre,  is  that  of  the  fixed 
stars;  then  follow  the  spheres  of  the  seven  planets:  Saturn, 
Jupiter,  Mars,  the  sun,  Venus,  Mercury,  the  moon.  The 
influence  of  the  planets  on  the  weather  and  thriving  of  fruits 
is  immense.  Man  himself  is  subject  to  them  in  his  tempera- 
ment, his  talents,  and  affections;  but  his  free  will  gives  him 
the  power  to  follow  his  impulses  or  to  resist  them.  The  days 
of  the  week  take  their  names  from  the  planets,  and  because 
Mars  and  Saturn  are  powers  of  darkness,  man  avoids  under- 
taking anything  important  on  Tuesday  ( Tyivesday,  Mariis 
dies),  and  on  Saturday.  The  poet  discusses  in  detail  the 
moon  and  its  phases.  Underneath  the  moon-sphere  are  the 
four  elements :  uppermost  is  fire,  then  air,  then  water  and 
earth.  The  various  meteorological  phenomena  are  attract- 
ively described.  We  are  told  from  what  proceed  thunder 
and  lightning,  hail  and  snow,  dew,  fog,  frost  and  rime ;  then 
is  shown  the  connection  of  all  lakes,  fountains,  and  rivers  on 
the  earth  with  the  great  ocean  that  surrounds  the  land. 
Finally,  the  poet  reaches  man,  who,  like  every  organic  being, 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CYCLE.  275 

is  composed  of  the  four  elements.  The  temperament  of  the 
man  is  determined  as  one  element  or  another  preponderates 
in  the  combination.  According  to  modern  speech,  the  earth 
would  approximately  correspond  to  the  phlegmatic  tempera- 
ment, water  to  the  melancholic,  air  to  the  choleric,  and  fire 
to  the  sanguine.  Psychology  is  combined  with  the  physi- 
ology of  man  and  the  account  of  his  development  in  his 
mother's  womb.  The  three  principal  parts  of  the  human 
organism,  liver,  heart,  brain,  correspond  to  the  three  souls, 
which,  according  to  ancient  philosophers,  are  united  in  man  : 
the  vegetative,  the  animal,  and  the  reasoning  soul.  The  last, 
which  is  immortal,  suggests  theological  and  devotional  re- 
flections, with  which  the  poet  closes. 

If  the  legend  of  Sf.  Alichael  was  thus  put  to  use  in  popu- 
larising scientific  knowledge,  or  what  passed  for  it,  the  legend 
oiSf.  Brafidan  disclosing  the  wonder-world  of  the  ocean,  gave 
expression  to  visionary  conceptions  of  unknown  parts  of  the 
earth,  as  they  had  formed  in  the  mind  of  the  people.  Pro- 
ceeding from  mysterious  premonition  and  aspiration,  this 
legend  materially  aided  to  keep  awake  through  all  the  Mid- 
dle Ages  the  presentiment  of  an  unknown  world  and  the 
longing  for  it,  until  the  discovery  of  America  brought  the 
time  of  fulfilment. 

The  lives  of  the  English  native  saints  were  well  suited  to 
historical  retrospection.  Despite  the  element  of  saga  promi- 
nent in  these  legends,  also,  there  was  frequent  opportunity 
to  impress  a  bit  of  history  or  geography  upon  the  minds  of 
the  audience.  Thus  the  biographer  of  St.  Kenelm,  like  his 
father,  Kenulf,  called  King  of  the  Welsh  Marches,  opens 
with  a  description  of  England  at  the  time  of  the  pentarchy, 
in  which  especial  stress  is  laid  upon  the  relation  of  the  five 
kingdoms  to  the  counties  and  bishoprics.^ 

One  legend,  however,  surpasses  all  others  in  historical 
value,  that  of  the  most  popular  of  all  English  saints,  Thomas 
of  Canterbury.  This  man's  political  importance,  the  brief 
time  elapsed  since  his  death,  and  the  wealth  of  biographical 
material  amassed  by  Englishmen  and  Normans,  preserved 
Thomas  from  becoming  an  ordinary  legendary  hero,  although 
they  could  not,  as  a  matter  of  course,  prevent  the  belief  in 

1  In  regard  to  the  source  of  this  geographical  introduction  see  page  279. 

S 


2  74  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

the  marvellous,  nor  deter  the  uncritical  spirit  from  embellish- 
ing and  distorting  the  facts  of  his  life. 

At  all  events,  the  life  of  Thomas  Beket,  by  its  historical 
tone  and  its  detailed  narrative,  deserves  exceptional  rank 
among  the  legends  of  the  Cycle^  which  it  most  worthily 
closes.' 

One  of  the  oldest  manuscripts  containing  the  Cycle  has 
two  additional  legends  appended  to  the  life  of  St.  Thomas  : 
those  of  yudas  and  of  P'date.  The  tradition  of  the  lives  of 
these  two  men  gives  much  that  is  strange  and  horrible,  but 
little  that  is  poetical  and  striking,  or  original.  They  appear 
strangely  out  of  place  in  such  dignified  company,  but  their 
histories  nevertheless  belong  to  the  same  range  of  ideas  and 
conceptions.  The  form  and  style  of  these  two  legends  also 
entirely  pertain  to  the  lives  of  the  saints. 

The  style  of  the  Legend-cycle  is  defined  by  the  metrical 
form  of  the  Alexandrine  couplet.  This  determines  the  con- 
struction of  sentences,  the  transitions,  the  formula-like  repe- 
tition of  many  turns  and  expletives.  A  certain  similarity  of 
style  proceeds  from  this  through  all  the  legends,  different  as 
their  contents  and  significance  may  be.  Supported  by  the 
identity  of  the  language,  and  the  relationship  of  the  materi- 
als, this  resemblance  has  even  given  rise  to  the  theory  that 
the  whole  Cycle  is  the  work  of  one  composer,  a  theory  that 
more  exact  research  utterly  destroys.  We  discern  various 
clearly  defined  individualities  in  the  treatment  of  the  subject- 
matter,  in  the  greater  or  less  fondness  for  certain  groups  of 
ideas,  and  in  views  and  knowledge.  Neither  does  this 
diversity  fail  to  appear  in  metrical  and  phraseological  details. 
As  regards  talent  for  poetical  form,  these  legend-poets,  it  is 
true,  seem  to  stand  at  about  the  same  level.  The  somewhat 
halting  verse  corresponds  with  a  rather  clumsy  style,  whose 
redeeming  trait  is  its  ?iaivete.  There  is  no  trace  of  the  copi- 
ous diction,  of  the  impassioned  tone,  that  we  find  in  more 
ancient  alliterative  lives  of  the  saints.  The  monotonous 
narrative  proceeds  with  severe  plainness,  with  no  poetical 
ornament,  no  chance  elevation  of  tone,  and  no  elegance  or 
finish.  The  feeling  or  reflection  of  the  poet  breaks  forth  but 
fitfully  and  without  giving  his  verse  loftier  swing.  As  if  by 
accident,  form  and  thought  are  now  and  then  congruous, 

1  The  feast  of  St  Thomas  falls  on  the  29th  of  December. 


ROBERT  OF  GLOUCESTER.  275 

yielding  a  stronger  effect.  In  some  places  it  is  the  poetry 
of  the  subject-matter  which,  not  impeded  by  the  unadorned 
treatment,  moves  our  hearts.  Indeed,  the  loyal  faith,  the 
pious  feeling  of  these  poets,  is  well  able  in  itself  to  affect  us 
in  like  manner. 

The  phenomenon  of  this  co-operation  of  many  with  one 
thought  and  to  one  end  is  most  significant.  It  shows  us  that 
the  spirit  which  created  the  English  chronicle  in  the  ninth 
century,  had  not  quite  vanished  from  English  cloisters  in  the 
thirteenth. 

A  kind  of  national  historiography  also  reappeared  under 
Edward  I.  At  the  head  of  the  newer  historical  writers  stood 
a  monk  of  the  monastery  designated  as  the  probable  centre 
of  the  cyclic  legend-poetry. 

Robert  of  Gloucester  was  born  during  the  reign  of  Henry 
III.  He  survived  the  eventful  years  of  the  civil  war,  and 
was  profoundly  impressed  by  it.  He  describes  from  fresh 
recollection,  in  his  chronicle,^  the  dismal  weather  that 
wrapped  the  land  in  darkness,  the  cloud-covered  sky,  from 
which  heavy  rain  drops  slowly  fell,  when,  thirty  English 
miles  away  from  the  poet,  raged  the  bloody  battle  of  Eve- 
sham (August  4th,  1265) — the  battle  where  Simon  de  Mont- 
fort  found  his  death,  and  the  standard  of  the  barons  sank. 
It  was  perhaps  in  part  due  to  these  youthful  impressions  that 
Robert  later  resolved  to  write  the  history  of  his  country. 
He  found  many  incentives  to  this  in  his  monastery.  The 
busy  activity  there  in  the  composition  of  legends,  presup- 
poses a  many-sided  study  of  Middle  Latin  literature,  and 
perhaps  of  French  literature  within  a  certain  range.  His- 
torians, biographers,  annalists,  and  chroniclers  were  doubt- 
less read  there,  or  were  at  least  accessible.  Robert  as  poet 
was  much  less  gifted  than  La3amon,  but  had  in  him  more 
of  the  scholar.  Archaeology,  topography,  ethnology,  and 
topics  of  political  economy  roused  his  interest.  He  was 
everywhere  tempted  to  compare  the  past  with  the  present. 
His  erudition  was  not  especially  great,  nor  his  field  of  vision 
broad,  nor  his  insight  very  keen ;  but  he  was  a  man  of  warm 
feelings,  and  was  clear-sighted  within  his  sphere.  He  was 
fain  to  discern  the  finger  of  God  in  historical  events ;  his 
moral  standard  of  measurement  was  strict,  but  not  illiberal. 

i  Ed.  Hearne,  p.  560. 


276  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

Although  devoted  to  the  interests  of  the  church,  he  was  a 
a  good  Englishman.  Party  considerations  and  prejudices 
clouded  his  judgment  less  than  they  obscure  that  of  many 
a  prominent  historian.  It  was  always  his  aim  to  distribute 
praise  or  blame  according  to  merit. 

If  Robert  felt  called  to  be  an  historian,  and  was  resolved 
to  write  English  for  Englishmen,  he  had  a  pattern  in  the 
Life  of  Thomas  of  Canterbury,  which  he  could  follow  in 
form  and  style. 

He  seems  to  have  begun  the  work  during  the  last  decade 
of  the  thirteenth  century.  His  Chro?iicle  was  not  com- 
pleted before  1297,  perhaps  not  until  1300. 

The  work  embraces  the  history  of  Britain  from  the  earli- 
est times,  that  is,  from  the  Trojan  war,  to  the  close  of  the 
reign  of  Henry  III.  Nearly  half  of  it  is  devoted  to  the 
fabulous  period  of  the  British  kings.  For  this  portion  Rob- 
ert follows  his  original,  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  with  great 
fidelity,  but  ignores  several  passages  having  little  interest  for 
him ;  besides  Geoffrey,  he  occasionally  takes  counsel  of  his 
Norman  translator,  Wace.  The  Old  English  period  has  the 
least  space  in  the  chronicle,  and  Robert  here  conforms  to 
William  of  Malmesbury,  and  to  Henry  of  Huntingdon  as  a 
subordinate  authority.  His  work  grows  more  detailed  with 
the  Norman  Conquest,  when  his  sources  begin  to  yield  more 
abundantly.  He  makes  use  of  Ailred  de  Rievaux,  the  A71- 
nales  Waverlienses,  the  French  poem  La  Esfoire  Aedivard 
le  rei,  Wace's  Roman  de  Ron,  and  many  other  writings.  For 
the  time  of  the  civil  wars  under  Henry  VI.,  he  mainly  fol- 
lows Rishanger's  Chi'onicon  de  hello  Lewense.  Legends  of 
national  saints  in  English  are  also  among  his  sources;  princi- 
pally The  Life  of  Thomas  Beket,  from  which  he  transcribes 
several  lines  word  for  word.^ 

Robert  writes  in  the  verse  and  style  of  the  Legend-cycle. 
His  chronicle  lacks  poetical  value.  He  has  not  learned  the 
art  of  story-telling;  and  the  epic  genre  does  not  especially 
attract  him.  He  often  studies  brevity  in  the  narration  of 
events,  dwelling  only  on  certain  details.  When  he  describes 
or  argues,  when  he  looks  over  the  past,  or  into  the  future, 
when  he  compares  and  gives  judgment,  he  is  in  his  element. 

1  That  the  composer  of  St.   Thomas  did  not,  by  any  chance,  draw  from  Robert 
can  be  as  plainly  proved,  as  that  Robert  himself  was  not  its  author. 


ROBERT  OF  GLOUCESTER  S  CHRONICLE.        277 

Archeeolügical  and   topographical  detail,  moral  reflections, 
and  the  like  are  the  most  interesting  parts  of  his  work. 

Robert  is  a  patriot,  enthusiastic  for  England's  fame  and 
greatness,  and  filled  with  the  warmest  interest  in  her  well-be- 
ing. He  opens  his  work  with  a  eulogy  of  England,  that  re- 
calls the  celebrated  passage  in  Shakspere's  Richard  II. ;  not 
indeed  on  account  of  poetic  perception  and  expression,  but 
because  of  the  sentiment  that  underlies  it : 

England  is  a  very  good  land,  I  ween,  of  all  lands  the  best.  It  is 
set  at  the  end  of  the  world  in  the  far  West.  The  sea  goes  all  about 
it,  it  stands  an  island.  It  need  fear  its  foes  the  less,  save  it  be  through 
guile  of  people  of  the  country  itself,  as  has  of  yore  been  seen.  From 
south  to  north  it  is  eight  hundred  miles  long,  and  four  hundred  (200?) 
miles  broad,  going  from  east  to  west  in  the  middle  of  the  land,  and 
not  as  on  one  end.  One  may  see  plenty  of  all  good  things  in  England, 
if  the  folk  do  not  spoil  them,  or  the  years  be  worse.  For  England 
is  full  enough  of  fruit  and  of  trees,  of  woods  and  of  parks  that  it  is  a 
joy  to  see,  of  fowls  and  of  beasts,  both  wild  and  tame  ;  of  salt  fish 
and  also  fresh,  and  fair  rivers  thereto.  Of  wells  sweet  and  cold 
enough,  of  pasture  and  meadow,  of  silver  ore  and  of  gold,  of  tin  and 
of  lead,  of  steel,  of  iron  and  of  brass,  of  good  corn  in  great  abun- 
dance, of  wheat  and  of  good  wool,  better  there  is  none.  Waters  it 
also  has  good  enough,  but  before  all  others  three,  from  the  land  into 
the  sea,  that  are  as  arms,  whereby  the  ships  may  come  from  the  sea 
and  go,  and  bring  on  land  enough  of  good,  in  nearly  each  place  :  Sev- 
ern and  Thames,  Humber  is  the  third,  and  there  is,  as  is  said,  the  pure 
land  in  the  middle. 

After  the  rivers  come  the  islands,  and  next  the  cities. 
This  leads  the  poet  to  historical  and  political  ground.  He 
enumerates  the  peoples  who  have  in  turn  invaded  and  con- 
quered England:  Romans,  Picts  and  Scots,  "  English,"  and 
Saxons,  Danes;  "the  fifth  time  England  was  won  by  the 
folk  of  Normandy,  who  dwell  among  us  yet,  and  shall  for- 
evermore "  The  next  section  is  devoted  to  polit- 
ical geography.  We  learn  the  names  of  the  four  British 
kingdoms,  of  the  thirty-five  "shires"  of  the  Angles  and  Sax- 
ons, of  the  seventeen  bishoprics  (including  Wales,  twenty) ; 
w.e  are  instructed  in  the  relation  of  the  five  Anglo-Saxon 
kingdoms  developed  from  the  heptarchy,  to  the  counties  and 
the  episcopal  dioceses,  and  hear  that  the  king  of  Wessex 
finally  became  sole  ruler  in  the  land.  The  following  ex- 
tract, bringing  out  the  peculiar  advantages  of  the  single 
cities  or  districts  of  England,  is  especially  interesting  :  "  In 
the   country  of  Canterbury  is  the  greatest  plenty  of  fish; 


278  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

and  the  most  important  chase  for  wild  beasts  is  around 
Salisbury ;  at  London  the  most  ships ;  and  wine  at  Win- 
chester; at  Hereford  sheep  and  cattle;  and  fruit  at  Worces- 
ter; soap  about  Coventry;  iron  at  Gloucester;  metal  like 
lead  and  tin  in  the  country  of  Exeter.  York  has  the  fairest 
wood,  Lincoln  the  fairest  men,  Grantbridge  and  Huntingdon 
the  greatest  quantity  of  moor-land,  Ely  the  fairest  place, 
Rochester  the  most  beautiful  aspect.  Opposite  France 
stands  the  country  of  Chichester,  Norwich  against  Den- 
mark, Chester  against  Ireland,  Durham  against  Norway." 
The  three  wonders  of  the  land  are  named,  and  then  the 
four  great  military  highways.  At  the  close  Robert  enlarges 
upon  the  superior  qualities  of  the  English  race,  resulting 
from  the  nature  of  the  country.  People  in  England  are 
handsomer,  whiter,  and  of  purer  blood  than  elsewhere ;  the 
great  evil  "  that  devours  the  bones  of  the  body  as  if  they 
were  burned  "  does  not  come  thither,  and  those  from  France 
who  suffer  from  it  and  are  brought  to  England  soon  recov- 
er: "from  that  one  can  see  that  England  is  the  best  of 
countries ;  just  as  it  is  I  write." 

This  description  of  the  country  vividly  recalls  the  like  ac- 
counts with  which  Robert's  Latin  predecessors  since  Beda 
had  been  wont  to  open  their  historical  works,^  and  especially 
Henry  of  Huntingdon.  But  Robert  had  other  authorities 
at  his  disposal.  There  had  long  been  special  compositions, 
in  both  prose  and  verse,  that  treated  either  the  mirabilia 
Britanfiiae,  or  the  pohtical  and  ecclesiastical  divisions  of  the 
country. 

Robert  accepts  the  great  event  of  the  Norman  Conquest, 
first  as  a  fact,  then  as  a  divine  judgment.  He  regards  Harold 
through  the  distorting  medium  of  Norman  tradition;  but 
William  is  to  him  not  the  legitimate  ruler  (this  was  rather 
Edgar  the  Aetheling),  nor  is  he  in  entire  sympathy  with 
the  conqueror.  He  does  justice  to  his  bravery,  and  to  his 
stringent  rule,  but  he  strongly  denounces  his  cruelty  and  his 
violence.  The  enriching  of  Norman  monasteries  with  Eng- 
lish property  is  not  at  all  to  his  mind.  He  proves  himself 
an  Englishman  throughout,  and  an  advocate  of  the  common 
people.     He  considers  the  rule  of  the  Normans  in  England 

1  The  later  editions  of  the  Old  English  Annals  are  also  introduced  by  such  a  de- 
scription of  the  country,  derived  from  Beda. 


ROBERT  OF  GLOUCESTER.  279 

definitely  established ;  he  does  not  regard  their  posterity  as 
foreigners ;  but  he  laments  that  they,  and  following  their  ex- 
ample, all  the  aristocracy,  speak  French.  Nowhere  else  in 
the  world,  he  says,  is  it  customary  to  speak  another  language 
than  the  mother-tongue.  But  it  is  indeed  well  to  understand 
French  as  well  as  English,  "for  the  more  one  knows,  the 
more  he  is  worth." 

Robert  naturally  took  the  part  of  the  barons  in  the  civil 
war  in  the  reign  of  Henry  III.  He  did  not  describe  the 
reign  of  Edward  I.  But  he  survived  a  great  part  of  that 
momentous  epoch  in  which  the  forces  began  for  a  shaping 
of  affairs  whereby  many  of  the  hopes  of  English  patriots 
were  to  be  fulfilled. 

We  know  next  to  nothing  of  the  circumstances  of  our 
chronicler's  life.  The  question  whether  Robert  produced 
other  writings  besides  his  chronicle  must  remain  for  the  pres- 
ent unanswered.  It  is  very  probable  that  he  wrote  a  few 
legends  before  he  composed  his  great  work.  Nothing,  how- 
ever, justifies  the  assumption  that  the  incitements  which  called 
forth  the  Cycle^  came  from  Robert.  The  theory,  moreover, 
that  he  himself  composed  the  whole  Cycle  can  be  most  posi- 
tively disproved. 

Certain  it  is  that  Robert  wrote  his  chronicle  at  a  time  when 
a  large  part  of  the  English  liber  festiv alls  already  existed, 
but  when  it  was  far  from  completed.  And  as  in  his  histor- 
ical work  sure  traces  are  to  be  found  of  his  use  of  several 
legends,  particularly  the  legend  of  St.  Thomas,  we  encounter, 
on  the  contrary,  in  other  lives  of  the  saints,  passages  taken 
from  the  chronicle :  thus  the  composer  of  St.  Kenelm  gives, 
in  his  geographical  opening,  nothing  but  an  extract  from 
Robert's  introduction. 

Robert's  example  exerted  no  slight  influence  upon  later 
English  historiography.  But  not  everything  attempted  after 
him  in  this  field  was  incited  by  his  example.  A  rich  chroni- 
cle-literature in  English  verse  began  to  unfold  with  the  com- 
mencement of  the  fourteenth  century.  Works  of  greater  or 
less  extent  (some  condensing  the  entire  history  of  England 
upon  a  few  leaves)  attested  the  interest  felt  by  the  English 
people  in  their  history — an  interest  revived  by  an  epoch 
which  established  constitutional  liberty  upon  a  basis  of  self- 
government. 


28o  FROiM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

V. 

The  substance  of  didactic  poetry  proper  consisted  of  ser- 
mons and  religious  treatises,  which  frequently  appeared,  as 
before,  in  rhythm. 

A  certain  class  of  material,  in  this  field,  came  ever  more 
prominently  into  the  foreground. 

Now  the  theme  is  the  baseness,  the  detestableness,  of  this 
earthly  world,  of  material  existence  that  ends  in  dust  and 
decay.  The  mortal  part  of  man,  in  all  its  unaesthetic  quali- 
ties, is  portrayed  with  glaring  colours,  and  graphic  and  vig- 
orous expression.  The  preachers  are  fond  of  accompany- 
ing man  from  the  moment  of  his  conception  to  the  grave, 
and  contrasting  the  self-sufficient  pride  that  fills  the  short 
earthly  life  of  this  creature,  with  his  weakness  and  nothing- 
ness, the  loathsomeness  of  both  his  origin  and  his  end,  the 
dangers  and  sufferings  that  oppress  him.  St.  Bernard  is  often 
cited  in  such  connection,  on  the  ground  of  writings  either 
genuine,  or  wrongly  ascribed  to  him.  But  the  most  far- 
reaching  influence  in  this  direction  was,  perhaps,  exerted  by 
the  work  of  the  third  Innocent :  De  contemptu  7nundi  sive  dc 
miseria  humanae  conditionis  libri  tres. 

Again,  in  contrast  to  the  vanity  and  fleetingness  of  earthly 
happiness,  eternity  is  delineated,  the  hereafter  in  heaven  and 
hell.  The  last  judgment  and  the  signs  that  shall  precede  it 
are  dwelt  upon  with  especial  fondness,  as  was  the  case  in  Old 
English  poetry.  Touching  these  legends,  a  tradition  had 
formed,  of  which  the  substance  was  stable,  but  left  room  for 
many  variations  in  detail.  The  first  three  gospels  and  the 
fourth  book  of  Ezra  are  its  principal  sources.  There  are 
usually  fifteen  signs,  each  being  connected  with  a  special 
day,  but  the  number  seven  also  appears.  The  more  detailed 
tradition  was  frequently  attributed  to  St.  Jerome  in  the  ]\Iid- 
dle  Ages.  But  whoever  first  established  it,  it  is  certain  that 
French  models  often  underly  the  English  representations  of 
the  fifteen  signs. 

Love  must  accompany  the  fear  aroused  by  the  portrayal 
of  the  last  day.  Hence  to  awaken  love,  the  preacher,  talk- 
ing to  the  people,  points  to  Christ's  passion  and  death,  de- 
picting them  with  reference  to  the  fall  of  man. 

The  end  sought  is  to  move  the  sinner  to  repentance,  and 


WILLIAM  DE  SHOREHAM.  28 1 

through  it,  to  penance.  To  enlighten  the  conscience,  duties, 
virtues,  and  sins  are  discussed  with  subtle  distinctions  and 
great  detail ;  the  Ten  Commandments  and  the  Seven  Deadly 
Sins  form  the  basis  of  classification. 

These  themes  perhaps  recur  most  frequently,  and  are  most 
characteristic  of  the  epoch.  But  much  other  material  is 
connected  with  them,  above  all  the  doctrine  of  the  sacra- 
ments. Encroachments  are  sometimes  made  upon  profane 
science ;  as  when  astronomy  is  brought  to  bear  in  the  de- 
scription of  heaven. 

Let  us  look  at  the  question  of  form.  The  short  couplet  is 
a  common  metre  for  all  writings  of  this  sort.  But  strophic 
forms  were  also  used,  especially,  it  would  seem,  in  the  south. 

A  poet  of  the  second  half  of  the  thirteenth  century,  who 
has  left  us  a  short  cycle  of  sermons,  employs  a  strophe  of 
four  eight-syllabled  lines  with  alternating  rhyme.  Another 
introduces  a  poem  in  short  couplets  with  a  few  strophes  in 
ryme  couee. 

The  choice  of  such  forms  shows  a  tendency  to  the  lyrical 
genre,  and  this  is  also  discernible  in  the  tone  and  style  of 
these  poems.  We  saw  that  the  lyrical  and  didactic  classes 
oftentimes  blended  in  the  preceding  period.  But  we  find 
much  more  striking  examples  of  such  a  commixture  in  the 
present  division.  It  would  be  hard  to  point  out  another  poet 
in  whose  work  form  and  contents  are  so  entirely  at  variance, 
as  with  William  de  Shoreham. 

William  de  Shoreham  wrote  at  the  time  of  Edward  IL  in 
the  language  of  Kent,  to  which  county  he  belonged.  The 
little  village  of  Shoreham,  near  Otford,  was  doubtless  his 
home.  He  was  probably  for  some  time  a  monk  at  the  priory 
of  Leeds.  Walter  Raynolds  occupied  the  archiepiscopal 
throne  at  Canterbury  from  13 13  until  1327,  and  when  he 
invested  the  prior  and  convent  of  Leeds  with  the  neighbour- 
ing rectory  of  Chart-Sutton,  William  was  sent  thither  as  a 
vicar.     Here  he  seems  to  have  spent  the  rest  of  his  life. 

His  poems  belong  for  the  most  part  to  the  field  of  religious 
didactics.  The  most  important  of  them  supplement  each 
other,  yet  they  were  evidently  not  composed  according  to  a 
fixed  plan,  or  in  systematic  order.  They  were  written  as 
need  arose,  or  to  satisfy  some  express  wish  that  chanced  to 
be  heard.     A  plan  may  have  developed  in  the  progress  oi' 


282  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

the  work.  A  poetical  treatise  on  the  Seven  Sacrametits  be- 
gins the  collection.  Of  these  the  sacraments  of  the  com- 
munion, of  penance,  the  sacrarnentum  ordi?iis,  and  marriage 
are  exhaustively  discussed.  With  reference,  perhaps,  to  the 
sacrament  of  penance,  William  later  treated  in  verse  the 
Ten  Commandments,  and  next  the  Seven  Deadly  Sins.  So 
far  he  moved  quite  within  the  usual  course.  It  seems,  how- 
ever, that  peculiar  phenomena  in  his  time,  perhaps  in  his 
vicinity,  caused  him  to  add  a  poem  that  touches  the  founda- 
tions of  the  whole  edifice  of  church  doctrine,  and  the  deepest 
mysteries  of  faith.  The  poet  imagines  himself  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  skeptic  who  does  not  beheve  in  redemption,  im- 
mortality, nor  even  in  God.  He  seeks  to  convert  him  by 
proving,  or  illustrating,  from  speculative  philosophy,  the 
existence  of  God,  the  Trinity,  the  creation  of  the  world,  the 
fall  of  the  angels,  the  fall  of  the  first  man,  and  original  sin. 

The  philosophic  vein,  which  is  most  marked  in  this  poem, 
often  crops  out  in  the  others.  William  was  plainly  a  thinker, 
an  educated  theologian.  He  was  well  versed  in  dogma,  as 
in  ethics.  He  had  looked  deep  into  the  human  heart.  At 
the  same  time  he  had  a  decided  leaning  to  a  mystical  and 
allegorical  interpretation  of  scriptural  passages  and  forms  of 
worship ;  although  he  by  no  means  disdained  the  moral 
application. 

He  handled  language  and  verse  with  apparent  ease,  and 
as  he  had  something  to  say  and  possessed  warm  sensibilities, 
his  poems  do  not  lack  effective  passages. 

He  was  not  a  poet  in  the  higher  sense  of  the  word.  A 
poet  would  hardly  have  made  such  a  mistake  in  the  choice 
of  a  form  for  his  material.  William  clothed  his  theological 
discussions  in  song  strophes.  The  strophe  of  the  last  poem 
consists  of  six  lines  on  the  principle  of  the  ryme  couee ;  in 
the  remaining  three  it  is  founded  upon  the  catalectic  tetra- 
meter (or  septenarius),  domesticated  in  England  by  the  Fo- 
ema  morale.  The  septcnarius  is  sometimes  employed  as  a 
long  line,  and  sometimes  divided  by  middle-rhyme,  as  in 
the  Seven  Deadly  Sins.  In  the  poem  on  the  Sacraments 
the  Cauda  (latter  part  of  the  strophe)  is,  in  the  favourite  Eng- 
lish manner,  introduced  by  a  little  verse,  with  one  accent. 

Other  poems,  more  or  less  divergent,  stand  between  the 
four  principal  ones  in  the  collection ;  they  are  a  translation 


DAN  MICHEL.  283 

of  the  horae  canonicae^  a  poem  on  the  'yoys  of  the  Holy  Vir- 
gin^ and  a  Song  to  the  Virgin.  In  this  last,  William  gives  a 
specimen  of  pure  lyrical  poetry.  But  we  can  only  judge  of 
his  talent  for  form,  since  he  worked  after  an  original  of 
Robert  de  Grosseteste.  The  poem  most  illustrative  of  the 
author's  manner  is  perhaps  that  on  the  Joys  of  the  Virgin, 
which  he  composed  at  the  wish  of  a  nun.  This  material 
was  suitable  for  lyrical  treatment,  as  may  be  proved  by  more 
than  one  example  from  the  last  period.  Nor  is  the  lyrical 
element  wanting  in  William's  strophes,  but  the  epico-didactic 
is  much  more  conspicuous. 

That  form  of  didactics  belonging  to  the  future  English 
prose  did  not  greatly  flourish  in  the  present  period.  Again, 
it  is  in  Kent  that  we  discover  some  traces  of  its  cultivation. 
Two  Kentish  prose  works  claim  special  attention,  both  giv- 
ing proof  of  the  high  degree  in  which  the  culture  of  this 
county  was  influenced  by  its  neighbour,  France.  At  the  be- 
ginning of  the  period  rose  a  cycle  of  short  and  admirable 
Homilies,  after  the  French  of  the  celebrated  homilist,  Mau- 
rice de  Sully.  Of  these,  only  five  are  preserved.  Towards  its 
close  an  Augustine  monk  at  Canterbury,  Dan  (Dominus) 
Mithel,  born  at  Northgate,  wrote  a  comprehensive  treatise 
with  the  title  Aye?ibite  of  Inivyt ;  that  is,  the  sting  {remorsus) 
of  conscience.  Dan  Michel,  too,  followed  a  French  origi- 
nal. His  source  was  the  work  of  the  Dominican  friar  Lo- 
rens,  Le  so??ime  des  Vices  et  de  Vertue.  This  is  said  to  have 
been  written  in  1279,  for  the  use  of  King  Philip  III.  of 
France,  and  it  later  became  very  popular  in  England,  being 
often  imitated  in  prose  and  verse. 

The  version  of  Michel  of  Northgate  is  still  more  interest- 
ing, since  we  are  told  the  time  of  its  origin  to  a  day,  and 
possess  it  apparently  in  the  composer's  own  handwriting. 
At  the  end  of  the  work  we  read  the  following : 

V Envoy :  Now  shall  ye  know  how  it  has  come  to  pass  that  this 
book  is  written  in  the  English  of  Kent.  This  book  is  made  for  un 
learned  ("lewd")  people,  for  fathers  and  mothers  and  other  kin,  to 
sliield  them  from  all  manner  of  sin,  that  in  their  conscience  no  foul 
thought  may  remain.  "  Who  (is)  like  God  "^  is  his  name  called  who 
has  made  this  book.  God  give  him  the  bread  of  the  angels  of  heaven, 
and  thereto  his  help,  and  receive  his  soul  when  he  is  dead.     Amen. 

Observe,  that  this  book  is  finished  on  the  Vigils  of  the  holy  apostles, 

I  Mi  ka  61. 


284  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECV. 

Simon  and  Jude,  by  a  brother  of  the  monastery  of  St.  Austin  of  Can- 
terbury,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord.  1340.I 

The  Ayenbite  of  Inwyt  is  essentially  a  popular  handbook 
of  moral  theology,  having  special  reference  to  the  reception 
of  the  sacrament  of  penance.  The  writer  begins  with  a  dis- 
cussion of  the  Ten  Commandments,  and  next  takes  up  the 
twelve  Articles  of  Faith.  In  accordance  with  tradition,  an 
article  is  attributed  to  each  apostle ;  Matthew  the  Evangel- 
ist taking  the  place  of  the  betrayer  Judas  as  the  author  of 
the  eighth  article,  pertaining  to  the  last  judgment.  The 
further  course  of  the  treatise  follows  the  vision  described  in 
the  thirteenth  chapter  of  the  Apocalypse.  The  seven  heads 
of  the  beast  are  the  Seven  Deadlv  Sins,  which  are  described 
with  their  subdivisions.  Offences  against  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments correspond  to  the  ten  horns.  The  poet  then 
rather  abruptly  proceeds  to  expound  the  art  of  dying,  and 
the  art  of  distinguishing  good  from  evil,  which  gives  rise  to 
digressions  on  mind  and  knowledge,  and  on  the  five  senses. 
Further,  the  good  is  contrasted  with  the  evil  manifested 
in  the  Seven  Deadly  Sins.  The  number  seven  is  used  alsc 
in  the  analysis  of  the  good ;  it  is  connected  with  the  peti- 
tions of  the  Paternoster  corresponding  to  the  gifts  of  the 
Holy  Spirit. 

There  is  a  strong  vein  of  allegory  in  the  Sting  of  Conscience^ 
as  in  the  poems  of  William  de  Shoreham.  The  composer 
occasionally  inserts  tales  and  anecdotes,  and  sometimes  sto- 
ries of  the  saints ;  but  he  is  more  sparing  in  this  respect  than 
many  another  writer  in  the  same  field. 

No  real  progress  can  be  discovered  in  Dan  Michel's  style, 
compared  with  that  of  more  ancient  homilists.  Neither  of 
the  two  writings  can  approach  the  animated,  graphic  man- 
ner of  the  Ancren  Riwle. 

Among  the  shorter  pieces,  following  the  Ayenbite  of  Inwyt 
in  Michel's  manuscript,  is  a  Kentish  version  of  the  beautiful 
allegory  Sawles  Warde  {compare  p.  204).  This  is  significant, 
for  it  points  to  a  connection  between  this  later  Kentish  prose 
and  the  more  ancient  prose  that  flourished  on  West  Saxon 
territory  in  the  first  half  of  the  thirteenth  century. 

It  almost  seems  as  if  the  activity  in  legend-poetry  and 

1  Ed.  R.  Morris,  p.  262.  The  Envoy  is  in  verse,  while  the  closing  remark  is  in 
prose.  The  short  preface  and  a  part  of  the  prologue  are  also  in  verse  ;  the  treatise  \%- 
^elf  is  entirely  in  prose. 


NORTHUMERIA  AND  FRENCH  CULTURE.       2S5 

theological  prose,  then  evident  in  Dorset  and  contiguous 
counties,  afterward  branched  out  from  its  original  soil  in  two 
directions,  without,  however,  entirely  deserting  its  native 
place.^  The  legend  moved  to  the  north,  to  the  boundary  of 
the  southern  dialect,  and  the  prose  toward  the  east. 

Was  it  the  influence  of  eminent  abbots  or  bishops  that  in- 
vested Gloucester  and  Canterbury  with  increased  powers  of 
attraction  as  abodes  of  national  ecclesiastical  culture  ? 

VI. 

After  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century,  however, 
the  main  centre  of  this  culture  lay  no  longer  within  the 
range  of  the  southern  dialect,  but  in  the  north,  in  Northum- 
bria,  and  in  Lincolnshire,  which,  lying  on  the  south  side  of 
the  Humber,  was  the  linguistic  as  well  as  literary  link  be- 
tween the  north  and  the  eastern  midland. 

The  Anglian  territories,  as  a  whole,  had  taken  no  conspic- 
uous part  in  the  national  literature  during  the  centuries  im- 
mediately following  the  Conquest.  The  most  active  impulse 
for  new  poetical  forms,  and  the  working  of  new  materials, 
proceeded  from  the  south.  Nevertheless,  productions  like 
those  yielded  by  North  Mercia  and  East  Anglia,  like  the 
Onnidum  or  Genesis  and  Exodus^  are  of  moment.  But 
Northumbria,  originally  the  principal  seat  of  Christian  poetry, 
hardly  gave  a  sign  of  life  in  that  transition  period. 

The  second  half  of  the  thirteenth  century  saw  the  north 
awake.  A  Northumbrian  translation  of  the  Psalms,  in 
couplets,  appeared,  which,  despite  a  certain  hardness  and 
stiffness,  attracts  by  its  vigorous  diction. 

The  vocabulary  of  this  work  contains  but  very  few  Ro- 
manic elements.  It  was  long  before  French  influence  took 
hold  upon  national  culture  in  these  districts.  The  number 
of  French-speaking  inhabitants  continued  to  increase  until 
towards  the  close  of  the  century.  But  the  Northumbrian 
clergy,  when  it  did  not  entirely  adopt  the  foreign  culture, 
maintained  its  exclusiveness.  Under  Edward  I.,  the  ro- 
mance writers  and  disours  undertook  the  work  of  intermedia- 

*  The  time  and  place  where  Ailred  de  Rievaux's  Inforinatio  ad  sororem  suatn  in- 
chtsai7i  was  translated  into  English  by  Thomas  N.  cannot  as  yet  be  accurately  de- 
termined. But  we  may,  perhaps,  assume  respectively,  the  first  half  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  the  West  Saxon  territory. 


286  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

tion.     The  3tart  thus  given  by  them  affected  religious  po- 
etry. 

The  beginning  once  made,  the  readiness  of  the  northern 
soil  for  the  foreign  seed  at  once  became  evident.  Many 
things  made  here  the  task  of  conforming  to  the  Franco-Nor- 
man model  easier  than  elsewhere ;  such  as  the  fusion  of  the 
English  population  with  Danish  elements,  and  the  advanced 
state  of  the  language,  that  had  retained  many  old  expres- 
sions, it  is  true,  but  had  discarded  or  curtailed  all  but  a  few 
inflections.  Again,  it  was  in  Northumbria  that,  at  a  com- 
paratively late  time,  an  Anglo-Norman  verse  flourished 
which  cannot  simply  be  classed  with  the  forcing-house  poet- 
ry. Yorkshire  produced  William  de  Wadington,  the  writer 
of  the  Maimel  des pechiez^  and  Peter  Langtoft  wrote  his  con- 
tinuation of  Wace's  Brut  at  Bridlington,  in  Yorkshire,  at  the 
beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century. 

It  thus  happened  that,  in  the  reign  of  Edward  I.,  the 
culture  of  the  north  became  saturated  in  a  surprisingly  short 
time  with  Romanic  elements,  a  process  that  resulted  at  once 
in  a  new  impetus  to  religious  poetry. 

Legends,  apocryphal  gospels,  and  the  like,  were  trans- 
lated into  Northumbrian  verse  from  the  Latin  or  the  French, 
and  sometimes  from  southern  English  dialects.  The  relig- 
ious lyric  was  also  cultivated  anew,  perhaps  after  the  example 
of  northwestern  poets.  This  rise  was,  however,  most  plainly 
manifest  in  biblical  poetry  of  the  grand  style,  and  in  the 
poetical  homily.  If  we  bear  in  mind  the  Ormuhim  and 
Genesis  and  Exodus^  this  phenomenon  on  Anglian  ground 
will  be  understood. 

The  prevaihng  form  in  the  Northumbrian  religious  poetry, 
naturally  excepting  the  lyric,  was  the  short  couplet.  The 
northern  poets  handled  this  metre  with  great  precision,  while 
in  the  south  the  talent  for  form  was  wont  to  keep  even  pace 
with  the  poetic  gift.  In  the  north,  where  much  skill  and 
elegance  were  at  times  coupled  with  great  soberness,  a  ten- 
dency to  the  counting  of  syllables  and  to  outward  smooth- 
ness is  discernible,  and  violence  was  often  done  to  the  Teu- 
tonic rules  of  verse  and  accent.  As  with  East  Anglian 
writers,  and  frequently  even  more  strikingly,  verse  and  style 
remind  us  of  the  manner  of  Norman  poets.  Like  causes 
may  have  produced  like  effects  in  Northumbria  as  in  Nor- 
mandy. 


THE  CURSOR  MUNDI.  iSj 

It  is  noteworthy  that,  among  the  earliest  writers  of  this 
epoch  and  region,  stood  such  a  man  as  the  composer  of  the 
Cursor  mundi. 

A  vast  plan  was  in  the  mind  of  this  poet,  and  he  realised 
it  not  unworthily.  He  had  become  familiar  with  most  of  the 
secular  poetry  popular  in  his  time,  with  the  French  romances, 
their  English  imitations,  and  the  often  frivolous  songs  of  the 
clerics  writing  in  Latin ;  but  he  could  find  no  enduring  taste 
for  this  literature.  Against  the  vanity  and  folly  of  the  world, 
he  put  the  seriousness  of  the  Christian  view  of  life ;  against 
sensual  love,  the  adoration  of  God  and  the  worship  of  the 
Holy  Virgin.  In  honour  of  the  mother  of  God,  he  resolved 
to  write  a  poem  which  should  teach  of  the  decree  of  God  as 
embodied  in  her,  its  causes  as  well  as  its  results,  and  should 
represent,  from  the  beginning,  the  history  of  the  race  from 
which  Mary  sprang.  It  was  likewise  his  purpose  to  help 
his  countrymen,  who  were  put  off  with  French  poems  little 
understood  by  the  masses.  "  It  has  rarely  happened,"  says 
he,  "  that  English  has  been  preached  in  France.  Let  us 
give  to  both  nations  their  own  speech,  then  we  shall  do  no 
wrong." 

The  poem  undertaken  in  this  spirit  is  called  by  its  author 
Cursor  mundi  {cursur  o  werld),  because  its  scope  in  rapid 
review  includes  almost  the  entire  world.  In  fact,  it  con- 
tains all  the  chief  passages  of  sacred  history,  and  something 
besides.  Beginning  with  the  Trinity,  on  which  the  work  is 
to  rest  as  on  a  firm  foundation,  the  poet  tells  of  the  creation, 
the  fall  of  the  angels,  the  fall  of  the  first  man,  and  the  fort- 
unes of  his  immediate  posterity.  Then  Noah,  Abraham, 
Isaac,  Jacob,  Joseph,  Moses,  Saul,  David,  Solomon,  pass  be- 
fore us.  The  prophecies  concerning  the  birth  of  Christ 
lead  over  to  the  New  Testament  portion,  that  begins  with 
Joachim  and  Anna,  and  the  conception  and  birth  of  Mary. 
Then  come  Christ's  birth,  life,  passion,  death,  resurrection, 
and  descent  into  hell.  To  Christ's  ascension  into  heaven 
are  joined  the  feast  of  Whitsuntide,  the  history  of  the 
apostles,  the  assumption  of  the  Virgin,  and  finally  the  find- 
ing of  the  cross  by  St.  Helena.  Then  the  poet  proceeds  to 
the  seventh  and  last  age  of  the  world.  The  coming  of  Anti- 
christ, the  fifteen  days  before  the  last  judgment,  with  theii 
terrible  signs,  and  the  judgment  of  the  world  itself,  are  now 


2S8  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

his  themes.  But  before  he  lays  aside  the  pen,  conforming 
with  the  purpose  of  the  poem,  he  returns  to  the  Holy  Vir- 
gin, describes  her  agony  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  and  glori- 
fies her  miraculous  conception. 

There  is  no  lack  of  compositions  in  the  Middle  Ages  fol- 
lowing a  plan  similar  to  that  of  the  Oirsor  tmmdi.  Nothing 
of  the  kind  existed  in  the  English  language,  however.  The 
most  attractive  legends  and  traditions  that  occupied  the  age 
were  now  first  blended  for  the  English  people,  with  the  most 
momentous  passages  of  Bible  history.  It  formed  a  great 
fabric  in  which  earlier  and  later  things  were  interwoven,  as 
promise  and  fulfilment,  picture  and  reality.  The  plan  of 
the  whole  is  similar  to  that  of  the  Collective  Mysteries^  that 
now  began  to  take  form,  not  uninfluenced  by  the  Cursor 
viundi. 

The  merit  of  the  poet  is  so  much  the  greater  as  he  was  not 
in  a  position  to  base  his  poem  on  any  single  text,  as  did  the 
authors  of  the  Genesis  and  Exodus^  nor  did  he  desire  to  do 
so.  He  collected  his  material  from  several  writings,  though 
perhaps  not  from  so  many  as  we  might  assume  in  our  inad- 
equate knowledge  of  the  mediums  accessible  to  him.  Aside 
from  Holy  Writ,  the  material  was  taken  from  biblical  ex- 
egetists  and  homilists ;  further,  many  apocryphal  books  were 
used,  some  of  them,  perhaps,  at  second-hand.  From  the 
New  Testament  period  are  the  Pseudo-eva?igelium  Matt/mei, 
the  Evangelium  de  naiivitate  Mariae,  the  Evajigeliw/u  Nico- 
demi, as  well  as  a  number  of  later  legends.  The  Childhood- 
Gospel  consulted  by  the  poet  was,  to  say  the  least,  nearly 
related  to  the  original  of  the  English  poem  contained  in  the 
Laud  manuscript,  {le  enfaimce  Jesu  Christ)}  More  than 
one  version  of  some  legends  was  accessible  to  him,  as  that 
on  the  Ei7idi?ig  of  the  Cross. 

The  poet  doubtless  used  French  and  Norman  texts,  be- 
side Latin  sources,  which  is  shown  in  the  section  on  the 
Fifteen  Signs,  preceding  the  day  of  judgment.  The  proph- 
ecies of  Isaiah  are  follovred  by  a  parable  on  the  Castle  of 
Love  and  Mercy,  that  is,  in  all  probability,  connected  with 
the  Castel  d' amour  of  Robert  Grosseteste. 

His  style  is  chiefly  epic  at  the  beginning,  although  discus- 
sions, retrospections,  and  forecastings  occur.     These  gradu- 

*  Published  by  Horstmann,  A  Itenglische  LegeTuUn.     Compare  pp.  265  and  267. 


THE  CURSOR  MUNDI.  289 

ally  grow  more  frequent,  and  a  homiletic  as  well  as  a  lyrical 
tone  is  often  struck  in  the  New  Testament  division.  The 
poet  preserves  a  certain  symmetry  throughout.  His  narra- 
tive is  nowhere  out  of  proportion  in  compass  and  micrology, 
but  he  is  careful  to  avoid  a  hasty  crowding,  or  summary  dis- 
posal of  things  belonging  to  his  scheme.  The  picturesque 
details  that  mediaeval  poets  were  wont  to  supply  from  fancy 
are  here  rarely  found ;  the  poet  generally  keeps  strictly  to 
facts,  though  naturally  with  the  freedom  that  every  narrator 
of  his  time  allowed  himself.  It  is  in  this  simple  garb  that 
the  poetry  inherent  to  the  subject-matter  yields  its  true 
effect. 

The  language  of  the  Cursor  mundi  is  clear,  fluent,  ener- 
getic ;  the  verses  are  well  constructed,  not  only  in  the  North- 
English,  but  the  southern  sense.  As  a  rule,  short  couplets 
are  used ;  but  when  the  poet  begins  to  tell  of  Christ's  pas- 
sion and  death,  he  expands  his  verse  and  his  rhyme-system, 
and  employs  strophes  of  from  four  to  seven  rhymed  septeiiarii. 
This  section  also  contains  the  burial  of  Christ,  and  closes 
with  meditations,  finely  ending  with  an  impassioned  prayer 
to  the  Virgin. 

Our  view  of  the  author  of  the  Cursor  mundi  discloses  no 
great  poet,  but  rather  a  simple,  noble,  and  virile  character, 
of  no  mean  culture  and  of  decided  talent  for  form. 

A  powerful  influence  flowed  from  this  strong  personality. 
The  Cu?'sor  viundi,  reproduced  in  numerous  manuscripts, 
gained  friends  and  readers  far  beyond  the  borders  of  North- 
umbria.  The  words  that  stand  at  the  head  of  one  of  these 
manuscripts : 

This  is  the  best  boke  of  alle, 

The  cours  of  the  werlde  men  dos  hit  calle,i 

denote  the  admiration  the  work  called  forth.  Probably  the 
example  given  by  the  poet  greatly  aided  in  the  speedy  fulfil- 
ment of  one  of  his  dearest  wishes,  and  preachers  began  to 
read  English  rhymes  to  the  people  instead  of  French.  The 
poetical  homily  commenced  to  flourish  not  long  after  the 
composition  of  the  Cursor  fnundi,  and  in  the  very  district 
where  that  poem  was  written,  that  is,  in  the  territories  belong- 
ing to  the  diocese  of  Durham. 

1  •'  This  is  the  best  book  of  all,  the  course  of  the  world  men  do  it  call."  MS.  Fair- 
fax, 14,  Bodleian  Library  at  Oxford.     Cursor  7nundi,  ed.  Morris,  p.  8. 

T 


2go  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

The  poetical  homily  became  for  the  north  what  the  legend 
was  to  the  south.  As  in  the  south  a  legend-cycle  was  formed, 
so  in  the  north  originated  a  Cyc/e  of  Ho7nilies  that  compre- 
hended the  church  year.  These  homilies  were  mainly  con- 
structed according  to  the  scheme  familiar  to  us  in  the  Ormu- 
lum.  There  is  first  a  paraphrase  of  the  gospel  for  the  day, 
with  occasional  explanations  of  difficult  passages,  and  then 
an  exhaustive  allegorical  interpretation  of  the  whole.  But 
in  concession  to  contemporary  taste,  an  edifying  tale  is  fur- 
ther added  in  these  Northumbrian  homilies  to  the  interpreta- 
tion ;  this  is  meant  to  confirm  some  assertion  of  the  preacher, 
and  is  at  times  very  entertaining.  It  is  taken  now  from 
Bible  narrative,  now  from  saint-legends,  and  now  from  the 
much- embracing  class  of  writings  known  in  France  as  contes 
divots. 

Latin  as  well  as  French  sources  seem  to  have  been  used 
in  the  composition  of  these  homilies.  St.  Gregory  is  fre- 
quently quoted  as  authority.  The  occasional  citation  of 
Beda  may  indicate  a  connection  with  the  old  Northumbrian 
ecclesiastical  tradition.  The  narrative  passages,  as  well  as 
tone  and  st}'le,  plainly  bear  the  impress  of  the  fourteenth 
century  and  of  Norman  influence. 

As  in  the  Ortnuhim^  the  diction  of  this  Northumbrian 
Cycle  is  prosaic  and  severe ;  like  the  catalectic  tetrameters 
of  Orm,  the  short  couplet  is  constructed  more  with  reference 
to  outward  symmetry  than  to  harmony  between  the  rhythm 
of  the  verse  and  that  of  natural  speech.  Yet  how  great  is 
the  disparity  between  these  two  works  in  all  other  respects ! 
How  much  more  flexible  and  concise  is  the  style  of  the 
Northumbrian  homilies,  and  how  much  more  readily  does  it 
conform  to  the  metre !  This  progress  in  form  is  largely  due 
to  the  Franco- Norman  school. 

The  Cycle  of  Ho7nilies  underwent  many  metamorphoses ; 
but  several  independent  poetical  sermons  or  tracts  also  ap- 
peared on  topics  such  as  the  Last  J^udgment,  the  Fifteen 
Signs,  and  the  Sevefi  Deadly  Sins. 

The  feeling  for  the  marvellous  and  legendary  which  the 
stories  in  the  Cycle  of  Homilies  had  nourished,  soon  called 
forth  a  Lege7id-cycle  in  the  north,  similar  to  the  southern,  but 
independent  and  diflering  fi-om  it  in  its  verse — the  short 
couplet — and  its  more  concise  style.     The  legend-poetry  of 


RICHARD  OF  HAMPOLE.  29 1 

the  north,  cultivated  in  close  relation  to  the  homily,  never 
reached  the  development,  circulation,  and  importance  which 
that  of  the  southwest  had  achieved. 

Among  poetical  versions  of  apocryphal  gospels  should  be 
mentioned  a  Northumbrian  Evangelium  Nicodemi^  written  in 
somewhat  artistic  and  cleverly  constructed  strophes.^ 

Such  works  as  the  Cursor  mündig  the  Cycle  of  Homilies^ 
and  all  others  in  the  same  manner,  prepared  the  way  for 
such  a  writer  as  the  celebrated  Hermit  of  Hampole.  Yet, 
more  generally  considered,  Richard  of  Hampole  presupposes 
another  series  of  conditions;  above  all  he  needs  as  back- 
ground a  period  that,  in  its  depths  and  its  heights,  went 
through  a  powerful  ferment  of  rehgious  ideas  and  feelings. 
Richard,  son  of  Williarn  Rolle,  was  born  at  Thornton  in 
Yorkshire.  His  parents  sent  him  to  school  at  an  early  age. 
As  a  youth  he  found  a  patron  in  the  archdeacon  of  Durham, 
Master  Thomas  de  Neville,  who  sent  him  to  Oxford.  The 
studies  which  absorbed  Richard  there  may  have  been  mani- 
fold ;  but  the  Scriptures  were  first  in  importance.  He  doubt- 
less felt  the  influence  of  strong  minds  in  Oxford.  The 
impressions  gained  there  were  decisive  in  forming  his  life; 
great  sensibility  and  an  excitable  fancy  were  combined  in 
Richard  with  a  pure  mind  and  an  inexorable  consistency  of 
thought  and  deed.  At  the  age  of  eighteen  or  nineteen  he 
reached  the  conclusion  that  the  ethical  and  religious  ideal  he 
sought  was  only  to  be  won  at  the  price  of  seclusion  from  the 
world.  He  decided  quickly;  he  left  Oxford  and  returned 
to  his  parents,  but  only  to  say  farewell  to  them.  He  pro- 
cured two  garments  from  his  sister,  a  white  and  a  gray  one, 
cut  from  them  a  temporary  costume,  and  began  his  hermit 
life.  His  appearance  and  behaviour  made  many  beHeve  he 
was  insane ;  but  this  did  not  disturb  him.  Accustomed  to 
follow  only  his  innermost  impulses,  he  soon  won  respect  and 
veneration.  The  wish  to  preach  came  upon  him  once  in  a 
church,  where  he  assisted  unchallenged  at  the  mass.  He 
then  had  the  blessing  administered  to  him  by  the  priest,  and 
mounted  the  chancel.     His  words  burst  from  the  depths  of 

•  The  strophe  is  bipartite.  The  first  division  is  founded  on  a  system  of  four  catalectic 
(occasionally  acatalectic)  tetrameters  with  the  same  end  and  middle-rhymes ;  the  sec- 
ond division  on  an  Alexandrine  couplet  of  six  accents,  also  bound  and  broken  by  end 
and  middle-rhyme.  The  strophe  has  thus  twelve  short  lines  with  the  following  order 
of  rhyme :  ababababcdcd. 


292  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

his  heart,  and  they  affected  his  hearers  with  resistless  power ; 
the  entire  congregation  broke  into  tears.  The  purity  of  his 
Hfe  and  his  strict  asceticism  soon  gave  him  the  fame  of  sanc- 
tity. According  to  the  legend,  he  healed  the  sick  and  cast 
out  devils.  He  himself  beheved  in  these  things,  and  none 
who  came  in  contact  with  him  in  the  least  doubted  them. 
This  shows  us  the  strength  of  his  individuality,  as  well  as  the 
glow  of  his  imagination,  which  could  kindle  that  of  men 
about  him. 

Richard's  life  was  chiefly  devoted  to  prayer  and  medita- 
tion ;  yet  he  did  not  forget  in  this  the  duties  of  active  phil- 
anthrophy.  He  worked  for  others  by  word  and  deed,  con- 
solation and  admonition,  tongue  and  pen.  When  he  would 
pour  out  the  abundance  of  his  thoughts,  his  pen  quickly 
flew  over  the  sheet,  and  words  came  fluently  from  his  lips. 
He  never  troubled  himself  about  finish  of  form.  His  writ- 
ings give  us,  children  of  the  nineteenth  century,  but  a  feeble 
conception  of  what  his  words  were  to  his  contemporaries. 
But  in  them  we  may  guess  the  forces  by  which  he  stirred 
men  orally.  The  deepest  conviction,  which  sought  to  ex- 
press itself  in  its  fulness,  overflowing  feelings,  a  mind  filled 
by  the  religious  ideas  and  images  of  the  time,  above  all  a 
rich  subjective  experience ;  from  these  things  came  his 
power. 

Richard's  hermit  life  did  not  confine  him  forever  to  the 
same  spot.  He  changed  his  habitation  more  than  once ;  but 
he  does  not  seem  to  have  left  the  diocese  of  York  after  his 
return  from  Oxford.  He  dwelt  for  some  time  in  a  small, 
secluded  hut  on  the  estate  of  Sir  John  Dalton,  a  pious  knight 
who  had  been  present  in  the  church  when  Richard  preached 
his  unexpected  and  eventful  sermon,  and  who,  after  satisfy- 
ing himself  as  to  the  hermit's  sanity,  had  offered  him  a  cell, 
and  looked  after  his  support.  Here,  probably  not  far  from 
his  home,  Richard  wrote  a  goodly  number  of  his  works.  He 
later  removed  to  the  county  of  Richmond.  We  find  him  at 
last  in  the  southern  corner  of  Yorkshire  at  Hampole,  near 
Doncaster,  where  he  died  in  1349.  The  spot  became  the 
goal  of  many  pilgrims,  drawn  by  the  fame  of  his  saintly  life, 
and  of  the  miracles  which  took  place  at  his  grave.  His 
memory  was  greatly  honoured  by  the  nuns  of  the  neighbour- 
ing Cistercian  convent,  which  drew  no  small  advantage  from 


RICHARD  OF  HAMPOLE.  2^3 

the  added  attractions  of  the  place.  It  was  they  who  caused 
to  be  written  an  Officium  de  sancto  Ricardo  heremita^  in 
anticipation  of  the  hermit's  canonisation,  and  its  Legenda 
contain  nearly  all  that  we  know  of  Hampole's  life.  They 
preserved  authentic  copies  of  his  writings,  on  iron  chains  to 
guard  them  against  mutilation ;  the  Lollards  would  have 
liked,  it  was  said,  to  garble  Richard's  works  over  to  their 
views,  and  support  their  teachings  by  his  renowned  name. 
Well  might  it  concern  the  nuns  of  Hampole  to  keep  the 
suspicion  of  heterodoxy  far  from  their  local  saint. 

Had  Richard  done  anything  to  arouse  this  suspicion  ? 
There  was  much  in  his  life,  in  the  manner  of  his  appearance, 
that  lay  out  of  the  usual  course  of  churchly  custom ;  much 
that  must  have  been  attractive  to  a  sect  like  the  Lollards. 
Belonging  neither  to  the  priesthood  nor  to  any  order,  he  took 
up  the  office  of  preacher  and  spiritual  adviser.  When  it 
pleased  him,  he  exchanged  the  cell  for  the  pilgrim's  staff. 
He  formed  his  whole  life,  not  according  to  the  directions  of 
an  external  authority,  but  in  obedience  to  the  promptings  of 
an  inner  voice,  which  was  to  him  the  voice  of  God. 

Yet  we  cannot  perceive  in  Richard's  theological  views  the 
shghtest  deviation  from  the  orthodoxy  of  that  time.  He  did 
not  doubt  the  efficacy  of  the  sacraments  or  of  absolution. 
The  pope  was  to  him  God's  vicegerent,  who  bore  the  key  to 
the  treasure  of  the  church.  He  impHcitly  accepted  all  dog- 
mas, and  in  the  doctrines  of  the  schools,  his  guides  were  the 
proved,  universally  received  authorities. 

Richard  belonged  to  the  class  of  men  who  combine  a 
childlike  reverence  for  ecclesiastical  authority  and  a  naive 
acquiescence  in  transmitted  dogmas,  with  independent  fer- 
vour of  religious  life.  Like  so  many  other  men  of  that  time, 
he  sought  his  own  way,  and  after  he  thought  he  had  found 
it,  he  did  not  forsake  it  again.  Yet  this  way,  v/hich  was  to 
unite  him  with  God,  touched  nowhere  the  field  of  philo- 
sophical theory.  The  mystical  experiences  of  his  contem- 
plative life  were  confined  entirely  to  the  sphere  of  feeling. 
Nothing  like  a  philosophical  system  came  from  them.  Rich- 
ard was  not  speculative.  He  had  neither  the  depth  nor  orig- 
inality of  thought  that  would  have  raised  him  to  the  stand- 
ing-point of  the  free  mystic,  as  an  Eckhart,  nor  the  cast  of 
mind  requisite  to  accommodate  the  fundamental  ideas  of 


294  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

mysticism  to  the  letter  of  dogma  and  to  the  system  of  scho- 
lastic philosophy.  Nor  did  he  even  feel  the  need  of  such  a 
mediation ;  to  him  there  seemed  to  be  no  conflict. 

Richard's  many  writings  deal  partly  with  that  which 
formed  the  heart  of  his  inner  life,  and  they  aim  partly,  in 
more  popular  manner,  at  theological  teaching  and  religious 
edification.  He  would  be  a  guide  to  congenial  souls  in  the 
path  of  asceticism  and  contemplation;  or  he  strives  to 
remind  the  sinner  of  the  hollowness  and  misery  of  life,  of 
God's  majesty,  kindness,  and  justice,  and  of  the  eternal 
requital  of  good  and  evil  deeds.  In  the  former  instance  he 
draws  from  his  own  experience ;  in  the  latter,  entirely  from 
books. 

Among  the  writings  of  the  first  class,  the  treatise  De  in- 
cendio  ainoris  holds  a  significant  place.  The  Officiutn  de 
saficto  Ricardo  gives  the  following  extract  from  it  (I.,  3) : 

In  the  lapse  of  time  a  great  increase  of  spiritual  joys  was  vouch- 
safed me.  From  the  beginning  of  my  change  of  life  and  soul  to  the 
vision  of  the  heavenly  gates,  made  that  my  spirit  might  contemplate 
the  celestials  with  the  eyes  of  the  heart,  and  see  in  what  way  it  should 
seek  its  beloved  and  pant  itself  to  him,  there  elapsed  three  years 
less  three  or  four  months.  Nearly  a  year  passed  while  the  gate  stood 
open  to  the  time  when  I  was  truly  sensible  of  the  warmth  of  eternal 
love  in  my  heart.  I  was  in  a  chapel,  and  while  I  was  delighting  in 
the  sweetness  of  prayer  or  meditation,  I  suddenly  felt  in  me  an  un- 
wonted and  blissful  ardour.  And  after  I  had  long  wavered,  doubting 
whence  it  came,  I  experienced  that  it  was  not  from  a  creature  but  from 
the  Creator ;  I  found  it  then  more  fervent  and  blissful.  While  this 
ardour  burned  sensibly,  and  with  unspeakable  sweetness,  passed  a 
half  year,  three  months  and  some  weeks,  to  the  inflowing  and  percep- 
tion of  the  celestial,  or  spiritual  tone,  which  pertains  to  the  eternal 
hymn  of  praise  and  to  the  sweetness  of  the  unearthly  melody ;  since  it 
cannot  be  produced  or  heard  save  by  those  who  have  received  it,  and 
such  must  be  cleansed  and  withdrawn  ffom  the  world.  And  while  I 
was  in  the  same  chapel,  and — it  was  in  the  night  before  the  Easter 
communion — sang  as  I  was  able,  I  heard  a  sound  as  of  those  playing 
the  psaltery,  or,  rather,  of  those  singing  above  me.  And  while  I  ad- 
dressed myself  with  all  longing  in  prayer  to  the  heavenly  ones,  I 
know  not  how,  I  felt  in  myself  a  wondrous  concord,  and  received  a 
most  delicious  harmony  from  heaven,  which  remained  with  me.  For 
my  cogitation  was  constantly  changed  into  the  music  of  song,  and  my 
meditations  into  hymns.  And  also  in  prayers  and  psalmodies  I  gave 
the  same  sound  from  me;  and  furthermore,  what  I  had  before  said 
broke  forth  from  the  affluence  of  sweetness  into  singing;  that  is,  in 
secret,  only  before  my  Creator.  This  was  unknown  to  those  with 
whom  I  lived;  if  they  had  known  it,  they  would  have  honoured  me 
overmuch,  and  I  should  have  lost  the  most  beautiful  part  of  the  grace,  1 

'  The  Latin  original  is  unintelligible  here,  owing  to  a  corru{>tioa. 


RICHARD  HAMPOLE  AND  MARGARET  KIRKBY.  295 

and  fallen  into  desolation.  Sometimes  wonder  seized  me  that  I  was 
thus  enraptured  and  that  God  had  granted  me  gifts  for  which,  to  my 
knowledge,  I  had  never  prayed,  and  which  I  did  not  think  were 
received  by  the  most  holy  in  this  life.  Hence  I  conclude  that  this  was 
given  to  no  one  on  account  of  his  merits,  but  that  Christ  granted  it 
freely  to  him  whom  he  would.  But  I  also  believe  that  no  one  will 
receive  this  grace  if  he  does  not  spiritually  prize  the  name  of  Jesus, 
and  so  honour  it  that  he  never  permit  it  to  leave  his  remembrance,  the 

time  of  sleep  only  excepted Thus  elapsed  four  years  and  about 

three  months  from  the  beginning  of  my  change  of  soul  to  the  highest 
point  of  the  love  of  Christ  which  I  was  able  to  attain  through  God's 
grace,  at  which  point  I  sounded  the  divine  praises  in  songs  of  jubilee. 
This  state,  with  the  previous  ones,  shall  abide  to  the  end,  and  after 
death  it  shall  be  more  perfect,  since  the  joy  of  love  that  begins  here 
shall  receive  a  most  glorious  consummation  in  heaven. l 

Margaret  Kirkby,  an  anchoress  {reclusa)  of  Anderby  in 
Richmondshire,  seems  to  have  had  no  little  influence  upon 
Richard's  Hterary  activity,  especially  as  regards  his  writings 
in  English.  Hampole  had  come  in  contact  with  her  before 
he  left  John  Dalton's  house.  Their  intercourse  was,  perhaps, 
mainly  by  correspondence.  Richard  was  Mary's  spiritual 
adviser;  he  instructed  her  "in  the  art  of  the  love  of  God." 
For  her  he  wrote  an  English  tract  {The  boke  maad of  Rych- 
arde  hajtipole  to  an  aiikeresse),  which  may  be  compared  in 
general  purpose  with  the  Aticren  Riwle.  He  also  composed, 
at  her  request,  an  English  commentary  to  the  Psalms. 
There  is  a  Latin  version  of  this  commentary,  which  may 
also  be  Richard's  work.  It  was,  perhaps,  the  basis  of  the 
English  composition.  Hampole  seems,  more  than  once,  to 
have  composed  the  same  work  both  in  Latin  and  English. 
But  some  of  the  hermit's  Latin  writings,  or  fragments  of 
them,  may  later  have  found  a  translator;  hence  it  is  not 
certain  that  several  English  treatises  ascribed  to  Hampole 
actually  came  from  him  in  this  form.  So  few  of  his  works 
have  thus  far  been  published  that  an  account  of  his  qualities 
as  a  writer  (at  least  in  prose  ^)  cannot  be  given.  No  accurate 
estimate  of  the  extent  of  his  writings  can  as  yet  be  formed. 

Richard's  position  in  English  literary  history,  and  as  an 
English  poet,  rests  chiefly  upon  the  Prick  of  Cotiscience 
(Stimulus  Conscieiitiae ) .  There  is  also  a  Latin  version  of 
this  work.      But  however  it  may  be  related  to  the  English 

'  Perry,  Prose  Treatises  0/  Richard  Rolle  de  Hampole,  p.  XXVI I.,  et  seq. 

'  This  is  also  true  of  his  lyrical  poetry.  The  poem  in  strophes  published  by  George 
G.  Perry  in  Religious  Pieces  in  Pj-ose  and  Verse,  p.  79,  et  seq.,  seems  to  me  to  betray 
%  manner  unlike  that  of  Hampole. 


296  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

composition,  there  is  no  doubt  that  Richard  was  the  author 
of  the  latter. 

The  title  and  the  general  purport  of  Hampole's  poem 
suggest  the  work  of  the  Kentish  monk,  Dan  Michel,  the 
Aye7ibite  of  Inwyt,  which  appeared  at  about  the  same  time. 
The  ways,  however,  by  which  both  authors  seek  the  same 
goal  are  unlike.  Michel  would  enlighten  the  sinner,  instruct- 
ing: him  in  the  nature  of  sin  and  virtue.  Richard  would 
bring  him  to  look  into  himself,  reminding  him  of  what  he  is, 
whence  he  came,  whither  he  goes.  In  his  seven  books 
Hampole  considers  the  wretchedness  of  human  nature,  the 
transitoriness  of  the  world,  the  vicissitudes  of  life,  death, 
purgatory.  Antichrist,  the  last  judgment,  hell,  and  heaven. 
The  ascetic,  mediaeval  view  of  life  finds  powerful  expression 
in  his  poem.  He  vividly  depicts  the  weakness,  ugliness,  the 
loathsomeness  of  human  nature,  the  terrors  of  death  and  the 
last  judgment,  and  the  torments  awaiting  the  sinner  beyond 
the  grave;  while  all  the  splendour,  all  the  charm  of  the 
poet's  art  are  lavished  upon  the  picture  of  heaven.  Unlike 
Dan  Michel,  who  was  content  to  translate  a  French  work, 
Hampole  joins  together  what  he  has  gained  from  different 
sources  into  a  whole,  bearing  the  stamp  of  his  own  person- 
ality. The  Prick  of  Co?iscience,  the  chief  of  Hampole's  more 
popular  works,  gives  us  occasion  to  recognise  the  wide  read- 
ing of  the  author.  It  is  full  of  citations  from  the  fathers  and 
ecclesiastical  writers.  Many  of  them  may  have  been  taken 
at  second-hand.  But  there  remain  enough  to  prove  that, 
though  his  regular  studies  ceased  early,  and  his  life  was 
mainly  ascetic  and  contemplative,  yet  he  managed  to  acquire 
no  slight  theological  culture.  Certainly  the  works  to  which 
he  was  chiefly  under  obligation  were  such  as  had  great  circula- 
tion at  that  time :  works  like  the  De  conteniptu  mundi  lihri 
tres,  by  Innocent  III.,  the  De  proprieiatibus  rerum,  by  Bar- 
tholomew de  Glanvilla,  the  Co7npe7idium  theologicae  veritatis^ 
ascribed  to  various  authors,  and  the  Elucidariimi  of  Hono- 
rius  Augustodunensis.  There  were  also  many  other  sources, 
and  among  them,  English  writings.  Thus  Hampole  seems 
to  have  used  a  medical  tract,  of  which  we  now  have  but  a 
fragment. 

The  language  of  the  poem  is  clear  and  expressive.     Ham- 
pole commands  a  large  vocabulary,  from  which  he  draws 


ROBERT  MANNYNG.  297 

with  lavish  hand.  He  Hkes  to  mass  synonyms,  and  does 
not  hesitate  to  repeat  words  and  turns  of  expression;  nor 
does  he  in  general  proceed  with  pedantic  uniformity,  but  oc- 
casionally looks  forward  and  backward.  Making  no  aes- 
thetic claims,  with  only  the  desire  to  instruct  and  edify, 
striving  only  to  make  v/hat  is  black,  right  black,  and  what  is 
bright,  very  brilliant,  he  has,  nevertheless,  produced  many 
very  effective  passages.  His  verses  are  flowing,  but  unlike 
most  northern  poets,  he  does  not  trouble  himself  at  all 
about  the  nmiiber  of  syllables.  The  verses  of  his  short 
couplets  have  always  four  accents,  but  often  more  than  four 
unemphatic  syllables.  This,  too,  is  characteristic  of  the  man, 
who  was  indifferent  to  external  symmetry. 

All  in  all,  Hampole  is  the  most  notable  English  religious 
writer  of  the  first  half  of  the  fourteenth  century,  and  he  had 
a  corresponding  influence  upon  later  religious  literature, 
especially  that  of  the  fifteenth  century. 

A  remarkable  contrast  to  Hampole  was  his  older  con- 
temporary, Robert  Manny ng,  the  most  eminent  representa- 
tive of  the  literature  of  Lincolnshire  in  the  first  half  of  the 
fourteenth  century. 

We  know  little  of  Mannyng's  external  life.  Born  at 
Brunne  (now  Bourn)  near  Market  Deeping  in  Lincolnshire, 
he  seems,  like  Hampole,  to  have  spent  by  far  the  greater 
part  of  his  life  within  the  limits  of  his  native  shire.  As 
Gilbertine  canon  he  belonged,  from  1288  to  1303  and  per- 
haps longer,  to  the  priory  of  Brimwake  in  the  hundred  of 
Kesteven,  six  miles  from  Sempringham  ;  later,  after  1327,  he 
was  for  a  time  connected  with  the  priory  of  Sixhill.  He 
was  once  in  the  county  and  city  of  Cambridge,  how  long 
or  when,  we  do  not  know,  perhaps  merely  on  a  visit.  The 
period  of  his  life  may  be  set  between  the  years  1 260-1340 
or  45. 

What  kind  of  a  man  he  was,  we  may  gather  from  his 
works.  His  fame  as  a  writer  is  based  upon  two  poems, 
Handlyjig  Synne  and  a  history  of  England.  A  poetical 
translation  of  a  tract  by  Bonaventura^  follows  Xht  Handlyng 
Synne  in  both  manuscripts  containing  that  poem ;  but  that 
he  wrote  it  is  very  doubtful. 

•  Herebygrj'nneth  medytacyuns  of  the  soper  of  oure  Lorde  Jesu.  And  also  of  hys 
passyun.  And  eke  of  pe  pe^^les  of  hys  swete  mod>T  Mayden  marj'e.  The  wa^  lIi« 
made  yn  latyn  Bonauenture  Cardynalle,  (De  coena  et  passiotie  Domini  et  de^oenis  s, 
Maria*  znrffinis.)  — 


298  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

Robert  was  a  pious  ecclesiastic,  yet  any  propensity  to 
asceticism  was  far  from  him.  He  was  ever  ready  to  grant 
an  innocent  amusement  to  others  as  well  as  to  himself,  and 
especially  to  the  poor.  His  was  an  unassuming,  genial 
spirit,  with  a  light  touch  of  humour;  he  was  a  friend  of 
music  and  good  stories.  He  did  not  ascend  to  the  higher 
regions  of  thought,  and  mystical  contemplation  was  quite 
foreign  to  him ;  but  his  eye  scanned  the  world  around  him 
with  all  the  greater  interest;  and  his  view,  if  not  particu- 
larly sharp,  was  very  clear. 

Robert  was  curious  and  even  inquisitive ;  but  his  curiosity 
had  the  background  of  a  warm  sympathy  for  the  lot  of  his 
fellow-men.  Like  his  namesake  of  Gloucester,  he  was  the 
friend  and  advocate  of  the  poor.  High  position  and  birth 
did  not  blind  him  to  the  faults  and  vices  behind  their  glitter. 
He  laments  that  there  are  so  few  noble  men  and  so  many 
*'  lordynges,"  ^  and  he  addresses  the  nobleman  thus : 

Unwrthyly  art  thou  made  gentil, 

Yyf  thou  yn  wurdys  and  dedys  be  yl ;  2 

"  Thou  art  unworthy  of  thy  rank  if  thou  art  evil  in  words 
and  deeds."  Still  more  strongly  he  insisted  on  the  highest 
purity  of  morals  in  the  priesthood,  And  he  seems  unwit- 
tingly to  leave  the  narrow  path  of  orthodoxy  for  a  moment, 
when  he  contends  that  the  effect  of  a  mass  read  by  a  pious 
priest  is  quite  different  from  that  celebrated  by  a  sinful  one. 

Robert's  reading  was  varied  enough.  French  and  Eng- 
lish romances  (in  his  youth  he  had  certainly  read  them  ;  and 
who  knows  if  not  still  later?),  lives  of  the  saints,  and  edifying 
miracle  tales,  as  well  as  more  solid  matter ;  as :  Beda's  Ec- 
clesiastical History^  and  a  number  of  later  English  and 
Anglo-Norman  historiographers.  It  was  the  antiquarian 
side  of  the  latter  that  especially  attracted  Robert  of  Glouces- 
ter. But  what  chiefly  interested  Robert  of  Brunne  in 
them  was  perhaps  the  epic  and  even  the  anecdotal  element. 
He  had  certainly  a  keener  sense  for  the  personal  and  sub- 
jective than  for  the  bare  matter  of  fact.  He,  too,  saw 
God's  finger  in  history ;  but  while  his  predecessor  deemed 
the  Norman  Conquest  a  judgment  on  all  England,  Man- 
nyng  discerned  in  it  only  the  punishment  of  Harold's  per- 

1  Handlyng-  Synne,  v.  8716,  et  seq. 
2  Ibid.,  V.  3040,  et  seq. 


THE  HANDLYNG  SYNNE.  299 

jury.  Mannyng's  writing  flowed  from  no  passion  for  art  or 
learning,  nor  from  ambition  to  immortalise  his  name,  a  thing 
so  much  easier  to  accomplish  in  the  fourteenth  than  in  the 
nineteenth  century.  His  writings  had  no  other  object  than 
to  please  plain  people,  in  an  innocent  and  useful  way  to 
entertain  them  during  their  hours  of  recreation. 

Both  of  Mannyng's  works  are  adaptations  of  Anglo-Nor- 
man originals,  whose  authors  hved  in  Yorkshire,  and  died 
during  his  lifetime. 

The  Haiidlyng  Synne,  which  was  written  in  1303,  is 
founded  upon  the  Manuel  des  Pechiez  of  William  of  Wading- 
ton  (Waddington).  Robert  could  hardly  have  procured  a 
more  fitting  book  for  his  purpose.  It  deals  with  the  same 
subject  as  the  Ayenbite  of  Inwyt,  and  follows  a  similar  plan. 
The  poet  successively  considers  the  Twelve  Articles  of 
Faith,  the  Seven  Deadly  Sins,  and  the  Seven  Sacraments, 
after  which  he  comes  back  to  the  topic  of  penance  and  dis- 
cusses at  length  the  Twelve  Requisites  of  a  good  confes- 
sion, as  well  as  the  Twelve  Graces  that  flow  from  it.  William 
seems  to  have  drawn  from  a  INIiddle  Latin  poem  in  elegiac 
measure,  entitled  Florettes,  and  also  from  a  Sinne  des  Vertus  et 
des  Pechiez  whose  relation  to  the  original  of  the  Ayefibite  of 
Inwyt  is  stifl  a  problem.  But  it  is  the  popular  character  of 
William's  work  which  most  decidedly  distinguishes  it  from 
that  of  the  Kentish  monk.  There  is  much  less  theoretical 
discussion,  while  the  thought  is  made  clear,  and  is  verified 
by  a  mass  of  anecdotes — tales  from  the  Vitae  Fatriwi,  the 
Dialogues  of  Gregory,  from  Beda,  and  many  other  sources. 
Mannyng  works  over  this  material  with  much  independence. 
He  leaves  untranslated  the  articles  of  faith  at  the  beginning, 
a  long  piece  of  moralising  in  the  middle,  and  a  mass  of  ob- 
servations and  prayers  at  the  end.  The  rest  he  gives  faith- 
fully, on  the  whole;  but  in  no  respect  does  he  restrict  him- 
self to  the  letter  of  the  original.  He  sometimes  curtails  and 
omits,  but  as  a  rule,  he  amplifies.  Things  he  has  observed, 
conjectures  and  reflections  that  came  upon  him,  are  never  re- 
served. He  retains  his  independence  especially  in  the  nar- 
rative portion.  At  times  he  sets  aside  a  story  for  one  quite 
different,  or  gives  the  same  story  in  another  and  ampler  set- 
ting; or  he  inserts  a  tale  from  other  authors.  He  takes  this 
new  matter  partly  from  Beda,  partly  from  the  lives  of  the 


300  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

saints  and  similar  writings,  and  partly  from  oral  communica- 
tion. He  often  indicates  the  scene  of  the  action,  which  in 
that  case  does  not  lie  very  far  from  his  own  home,  as  the 
counties  of  Cambridge,  Norfolk,  and  Suffolk.  The  scene  of 
one  tale  is  in  his  immediate  neighbourhood,  Kesteven. 

The  whole  receives  at  his  hands  a  truly  national  and  at 
times  a  local  impress.  Social  relations,  customs,  and  usages 
of  the  time  and  country  are  blended  into  one  effective  pict- 
ure. 

Like  his  original,  Robert  employs  the  most  unassuming 
of  all  metres,  the  short  couplet,  which  he  wields  in  the  man- 
ner of  the  Northumbrian  poet.  His  style  is  simple  and 
clear,  somewhat  more  prolix  and  graphic  than  William's,  but 
always  rather  terse.  He  has  a  certain  skill  in  narration, 
which  rouses  and  increases  the  interest.  But  compared  with 
such  poets  as  the  authors  of  Dame  Siriz  or  of  the  Fox  and 
Wolf,  he  is  stiff  and  dry. 

Mannyng  was  incited  to  write  his  History  of  England  by 
Robert  of  Malton,  who  was  probably  prior  of  Sixhill.  This 
work  belongs  to  a  later  period  of  his  life;  it  was  finished  in 
May,  1338.  His  chief  source  was  the  rhyming  chronicle  of 
the  canon  of  Bridlington  in  Yorkshire,  Peter,  or  as  Robert 
calls  him,  Pers  of  Langtoft. 

Langtoft  had  first  rendered  a  portion  of  Wace's  Brut, 
and  then,  with  the  help  of  other  writings,  continued  the 
English  History  to  the  death  of  Edward  I. 

Mannyng,  who  had  access  to  Wace's  poem,  preferred  to 
prepare  the  history  of  the  British  kings  according  to  the 
fuller  account  of  the  original,  rather  than  the  curtailed  work 
of  the  compiler.  Wace's  temperament  was  in  many  respects 
like  his  own ;  his  unpretentious  and  perspicuous,  but  not  in- 
elegant, diction  attracted  Mannyng,  not  less  than  the  full 
details  with  which  he  tells  the  stories  of  the  age  of  the  Eng- 
lish kings.  Where  Wace  ceased,  Mannyng  turned  to  Lang- 
toft, and  followed  him  very  loyally  to  the  end.  But  he 
often  consulted  older  and  more  trustworthy  authorities,  and 
allowed  himself  some  deviations  and  additions.  He  also 
interpolated  native  legends.  He  was  acquainted  with  the 
romance  of  Havelok,  and  we  see  from  his  allusion  to  the  fort- 
unes of  this  hero,  that  the  saga  was  then  still  far  from  extinct 
in  Lincolnshire.     But  the  good  Robert  was  greatly  aston- 


ROMANCE  AND  HISTORY.  3OI 

ished  to  find  that  his  authorities  said  nothing  of  it.  This 
roused  his  distrust,  and  he  hastened  to  drop  the  subject. 
He  was  plainly  ignorant  of  the  English  history  of  Gaimar, 
and  of  the  works  of  many  later  historians  who  were  less  open 
to  critical  scruples  than  he,  as  the  compilation  written  in 
Anglo-Norman  prose  in  13 10  by  Master  Rauf  de  Boun  for 
Henry  de  Lacy,  count  of  Lincoln ;  the  short  contemporary 
genealogy  of  the  British  and  English  kings  from  Brutus  to 
Edward  IL ;  and  the  larger  Brut,  likewise  in  Anglo-Nor- 
man prose,  and  written  in  the  thirties  of  the  century.  Have- 
lok  is  also  barely  mentioned  in  a  very  summary  chronicle 
from  Brutus  to  1313,  written  in  short  English  couplets, 
which  was  soon  after  continued  to  the  time  of  Edward  IH. 

The  growing  taste  for  national  history  was  not  accom- 
panied by  a  growth  of  the  true  historical  sense.  The  increas- 
ing popularisation  of  history  caused,  in  the  beginning,  a  de- 
cline of  historical  criticism.  The  romances  of  chivalry 
yielded  rich  material  for  the  historiographers,  the  most  of 
whom  willingly  embodied  it  in  their  writings.  Guy  of  War- 
wick and  his  victorious  fight  with  Colebrand,  of  which  we 
learn  nothing  in  Robert  of  Gloucester's  chronicle,  was  put  by 
Langtoft  and  Mannyng  quite  in  the  same  category  with  Aeth- 
elstan  and  the  battle  of  Brunanburh.  Wace,  and  after  him 
Mannyng,  made  a  rather  unfounded  but  useful  distinction 
between  the  statements  of  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  in  his 
Latin  history  and  the  Arthurian  romances.  The  logic  of 
things  gradually  obliterated  this  boundary.  In  an  uncritical 
age  everything  depends  upon  the  trustworthiness  of  author- 
ities. So  long  as  historical  works  were  mainly  written  in 
Latin,  this  tendency  to  fiction  was  restricted.  But  with  the 
appearance  of  every  writing  in  the  national  language,  the 
line  between  the  guild  of  the  learned  historiographers  and  the 
romancers  grew  more  indistinct.  The  latter  also  professed, 
as  a  rule,  to  relate  actual  events. 

As  historian,  Robert  of  Brunne  stands  far  below  Robert 
of  Gloucester.  He  is  less  well  informed,  less  independent, 
his  conception  of  things  less  clear  and  certain. 

Yet  he  somewhat  excels  him  in  metre,  especially  in  that 
part  of  his  work  where,  following  Wace,  he  moves  with  ease 
and  skill  in  short  couplets.  But  the  Alexandrines  which 
Robert  of  Brunne,  after  Langtoft,  employs  in  the  second 


302  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECV. 

part,  are  less  uneven  and  more  like  the  French  form  tlian 
those  of  his  predecessor.  He  is  wise  enough  to  turn  the 
single-rhymed  strains  of  his  original  into  Alexandrine  coup- 
lets. He  but  rarely  uses  the  same  rhyme  in  a  succession  of 
verses.  Unfortunately,  he  begins,  at  the  time  of  the  Con- 
quest, to  make  use  of  the  middle-rhyme,  which  he  carries 
out  with  much  regularity  to  the  close.  He  had  found  fault 
in  his  prologue  with  the  romance-poets  who,  to  show  off  their 
art,  employed  difficult  metres  (ry)7ie  e7itrelacee,  ryj?ie  couee, 
etc.) ;  forms  which  the  disours  were  accustomed  to  mutilate 
in  their  recitations,  and  which,  combined  with  involved  and 
heterogeneous  language,  were  not  intelligible  to  the  people. 
Now  he  himself  falls  into  this  mistake,  for  which  he  has  to 
pay  dearly  at  once.  To  satisfy  the  greater  demands  of 
rhyme  he  often  takes  refuge  in  bold  inversions  and  abrupt 
expressions,  which  make  his  writing  very  obscure  and  diffi- 
cult. 

Nevertheless,  Mannyng's  chronicle  has  much  that  is  at- 
tractive and  instructive,  though  this  is,  indeed,  due  more  to 
the  originals  than  to  the  compiler.  Langtoft's  work  is  not 
without  historical  value,  especially  in  the  account  of  the  time 
of  Edward  I. ;  it  contains  an  abundance  of  details,  and  gives 
many  a  tradition,  and  many  a  political  folk-song  that  were 
adopted  by  the  English  translator. 

Robert  of  Brunne  is  without  doubt  one  of  the  writers  who 
served  most  to  spread  the  East-Midland  dialect  toward  the 
south.  And  through  him  many  new  Romanic  words  were 
probably  either  introduced  into  the  English  literary  lan- 
guage, or  at  least  established  there.  His  vocabulary  con- 
tains numerous  foreign  elements,  many  more  than  that  of 
the  slighdy  earlier  Robert  of  Gloucester.  With^such  rapid- 
ity had  the  north  assimilated  the  Norman  culture,  which  it 
first  repulsed. 

Mannyng  influenced  the  growth  of  hterature  chiefly  by 
his  Ha7idly7ig  Sy7i7ie,  one  of  the  most  entertaining  and  in- 
structive books  that  Old  England  has  bequeathed  us. 

vn. 

Manifold  points  of  contact  between  religious  and  secular 
poetry  have  already  aj^peared  in  the  present  division  of  our 
researches.     We  have  hardly  touched,  however,  upon  X^q 


LYRICS  OF  THE  WANDERING  SCHOLARS.  303 

field  in  which  the  two  appear  most  intimately  related ;  viz  , 
the  lyric. 

In  this  field,  too,  religious  poetry  prepared  the  way.  In 
the  last  period  we  saw  its  writers  introduce  new  forms  and 
themes  that,  borrowed  partly  fi"om  the  Middle  Latin,  partly 
from  Norman  art-poetry,  were  largely  of  secular  origin. 

When  the  English  lyric  had  again  won  honours  on  re- 
ligious ground,  it  was  not  long  before  the  secular  lyric  began 
to  strive  for  the  same  laurels.  There  were  many  minds  that 
united  a  bright  and  freshly  concrete  conception  of  life  with 
literary  culture;  above  all  among  the  itinerant  clerics.  And 
mainly  among  them  we  have  to  seek  the  fosterers  of  English 
song  in  the  present  period. 

The  itinerant  clergy  knew  life  as  well  as  the  schools,  and 
came  into  contact  with  the  most  diverse  classes.  Their  rov- 
ing, careless,  and  oftentimes  dissolute  life  invested  them  with 
the  cleverness  of  the  man  of  the  world,  though  it  was  borne 
with  a  somewhat  plebeian  air ;  their  intercourse  with  nature 
and  the  people  kept  the  mind  fresh  with  a  sense  for  the  naive 
expression  of  feeling. 

Not  less  at  home  in  Paris  than  in  Oxford,  they  were  gen- 
erally acquainted  with  French  as  well  as  English  and  Latin, 
and  doubtless  knew  by  heart  the  most  piquant  love-songs 
and  drinking-catches  of  the  former.  Englishmen,  both  of 
Norman  and  Enghsh  descent,  perhaps  early  came  fraternally 
together  in  these  merry  circles.  At  their  drinking-bouts  in 
the  tavern,  a  Babylonian  confusion  of  tongues  saluted  the 
ear  of  the  honest  burgher,  shaking  his  head  as  he  passed  by. 
This  commingling  of  languages  is  illustrated  in  the  follow- 
ing song,  in  which  the  Enghsh  element  appears  only  at  the 
close.  The  composer  was  an  English  student  residing  in 
Paris. 

Dum  ludis  floribus  vehtt  lacinia 
Se  dieu  d'amour  moi  tient  en  tiel  angustia^ 
Morir  m'estuetl  de  duel  e  de  miseria^ 
Si  je  ne  I'ay  quam  amo  super  omnia. 

Ejus  amor  tantum  mefacitfervere, 
Que  je  ne  soi  quid  possum  inde  facere  ; 
Pur  ly  covent  hoc  saeculu?n  relinquere, 
Si  je  ne  pus  I'amour  de  \\  perquirere. 

1  Wright,  Specimens  of  Lyric  Poetry ,  p.  64,  has  Merour  me  tient,  which  I  do  not  un- 
derstand. 


304  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

Ele  est  si  bele  e  gente  dame  egregia^ 
Cum  ele  fust  imperatoris  filia. 
De  beal  semblant  et pulcra  continencia, 
Ele  est  la  flur  i?i  omni  regis  curia. 

Quant  je  la  vey,  je  su  in  tali  gloria. 
Come  est  la  lune  coeli  inter  sidera, 
Dieu  la  moi  doint  sua  misericordia     y 
Beyser  e  fere  quae  secuntur  alia  ! 

Scripsi  haec  carinina  ifi  tabulis. 
Mon  ostel  est  en  mi  la  vile  de  Paris  ; 
May  y  sugge  namore,  so  wel  Pie  is  ; 
Yefy  de^e  for  love  of  hire,  duel  hit  ys. 

The  national  lyric  that  now  blossomed  under  the  nurture 
of  the  English  students  bears  the  stamp  of  the  Hfe  they  led, 
and  of  the  very  heterogeneous  influences  to  which  they  were 
exposed.  A  tone  of  youthful  audacity,  genuine  and  often 
passionate  feeling,  and  fresh,  sometimes  coarse,  sensuousness, 
marked  their  secular  songs,  that  were  almost  without  excep- 
tion amorous.  The  form  betrays  the  influence  of  the  Latin 
strollers'  songs  and  of  French  love-poetry,  as  well  as  of  the 
Ensflish  religious  Ivric.  Celtic  influence  is  also  discernible 
in  a  few  songs ;  a  great  fondness  for  images  and  comparisons, 
united  with  a  certain  dithyrambic  tone,  quickly  recurring 
flashes  of  feeling  and  fancy,  characterise  the  very  poems 
that  the  tokens  of  language  and  metre  assign  to  the  western 
counties. 

Technical  forms  appear  beside  simpler,  more  popular  ones. 
A  folk-tone  predominates,  however,  and  is  felt  even  when 
the  strophe  is  courtly,  or  when  courtly  themes  are  handled. 
The  English  folk-song  doubtless  also  acted  strongly  upon  the 
poetr}^  of  the  wandering  clerics. 

Have  we  no  genuine  folk-songs  from  this  period  ?  The 
celebrated  Cuckoo  Song,  dating  perhaps  from  the  middle  of 
the  thirteenth  century,  seems  to  yield  the  full  impression  of 
such  a  poem.  But  the  music  to  this  song,^  whose  notes 
have  been  transmitted  with  the  text,  betokens  a  well-ad- 
vanced development,  and  its  form  is  relatively  very  correct. 
Whoever  the  author  was,  he  exactly  struck  the  key  of  the 
folk-song.  The  coming  of  summer,  with  the  awakening  of 
all  nature  to  new  life,  is  described  with  drastic  simphcity  and 
with  no  admixture  of  subjective  sentiment: 

1  The  composition  has  the  character  of  the  canon. 


STYLE  OF  THE  ENGLISH  LYRICS.  305 

Sumer  is  icumen  in,  Ihude  sing  cuccu  ! 

Groweth  sed  and  bloweth  med  and  springth  the  wde  nu. 

Sing  cuccu ! 
Awe  bleteth  after  lomb,  Ihouth  after  calue  cu, 
Bulluc  sterteth,  bucke  uertetli,  murie  sing  cuccu ! 

Cuccu,  cuccu  ! 
Wei  singes  thu  cuccu  :  ne  swick  thu  naver  nu. 

The  itinerant  clerics,  to  adorn  their  lyrics,  borrowed  many 
traits  and  turns  of  phrase  from  songs  of  summer  and  winter, 
as  sung  by  the  people.  The  love  of  nature  evident  in  their 
poems,  the  landscape-painting  that  often  is  the  background 
for  personal  feeling,  markedly  deviate  from  the  corresponding 
elements  of  French  poetry,^  and  have  such  an  English  air 
that  they  can  only  be  explained  by  the  tradition  of  the  Eng- 
lish folk-song.  It  is  plain,  at  a  glance,  that  the  Englishman 
has  a  warmer  and  closer  relation  with  nature  than  the 
Frenchman.  The  French  poet  is  only  interested  by  a  cer- 
tain range  of  phenomena,  out  of  which  he  rarely  moves.  As 
regards  animals,  for  instance,  he  almost  entirely  restricts  him- 
self, in  the  lyric,  to  singing  birds,  except  for  purposes  of  com- 
parison. And  the  poet  knows  no  way  of  combining  the 
expression  of  his  mood  and  the  picture  he  has  sketched  by  a 
few  touches  from  nature,  save  by  means  of  reflection. 
"  Everything  rejoices  in  returning  spring,  so  I  must  also  re- 
joice in  my  love; "  or,  "  When  the  nightingale  begins  her 
sweet  song,  it  becomes  me  to  sing  mine."  The  Enghsh  poet 
has  more  varied  and  richer  details  at  his  disposal,  and  is  not 
wont  to  form  an  analogy  of  his  personal  sentiments  with  a  cer- 
tain phase  of  the  life  of  nature,  but  rather  lets  his  feelings  appear 
as  part  of  that  life. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  whole  forms  and  verses  passed 
from  the  folk-song  to  the  songs  of  the  clerics.  A  poem  that 
otherwise  contains  many  non-popular  elements  has  the  fol- 
lowing burden,  very  certainly  not  invented  by  the  poet : 

Blow,  north  erne  wynd, 

Sent  thou  me  my  suetying  (sweetheart). 

Blow,  northerne  wynd,  blou,  blou,  blou !  2 

There  is  in  the  entire  poem  no  other  mention  of  the  north 
wind ;  it  contains  no  description  of  nature,  but,  in  six  stanzas 

1  This  is  true  particularly  of  the  lyric.  In  the  French  epic  romances,  the  Iqve  of  nat- 
ure is  occasionally  shown  with  the  same  directness  as  in  the  English  lyric  now  con- 
sidered. 

2  Wright,  Specimens  of  Lyric  Poetry,  No.  i6. 

U 


306  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

full  of  metaphors  and  similes,  brings  out  the  perfections  of 
the  loved  one,  and  depicts  in  four  further  stanzas  the  love- 
pain  of  the  poet. 

The  terse  language  and  abrupt  transitions  of  the  folk-song 
characterise  these  verses  throughout.  "  How  shall  he  sweetly 
sing  who  thus  in  mourning  pines  ?  She  will  bring  me  to 
death  long  before  my  time.  Greet  her  well,  the  sweet  one 
with  the  clear  eyes."  ^  And  in  the  same  poem  :  "  I  wish 
her  M'hat  is  good,  she  me  evil ;  I  am  her  friend,  she  is  my 
foe ;  I  believe  my  heart  will  break  with  care  and  sighing. 
May  she  go  in  God's  keeping,  the  white  pearl." 

Nearly  all  of  the  few  love-songs  preserved  from  this  period 
date  from  the  time  of  Henry  III.  and  Edward  I.  They 
originated  partly  in  the  midland  district,  partly  in  the  south ; 
alliteration  and  rhyme  are  both  frequent  and  are  more  regu- 
larly used  by  poets  belonging  to  the  Welsh  Marches. 

Though  few  in  number,  these  productions^  present  a  fair 
variety  of  talent  and  .style.  A  poet  who  probably  lived  in  east- 
ern Mercia,  and  composed  in  the  single-rhymed  strophes  of 
four  long  lines,  familiar  to  us  in  the  religious  lyric,  is  dis- 
tinguished by  his  simple  directness  of  expression  and  warmth 
of  feeling.  We  have  a  love-plaint  from  him  that  begins  thus  : 
"  When  the  nightingale  sings,  the  woods  wax  green ;  leaf  and 
grass  and  blossom  spring  in  April,  I  ween,  and  love  is  gone 
to  my  heart  with  a  spear  so  keen ;  night  and  day  it  drinks 
my  blood,  my  heart  doth  me  tene  (hurt)."^  The  same  poet 
wrote  a  song  in  dialogue,  that  is  probably  meant  to  repre- 
sent his  own  lot.     We  translate  it  as  follows : 

jMy  death  I  love,  my  life  I  hate,  all  for  a  lady  fair ; 
She  is  as  bright  as  the  day-light,  none  can  with  her  compare. 
I  fade  and  droop  as  doth  green  leaf  in  summer's  sunny  air; 
If  all  my  thought  me  helpeth  nought,  what  can  I  but  despair? 

Sorrows  and  sighs  and  dreary  mood  hold  me  enthralled  so  fast, 
That  now  meseems  I  shall  go  mad  if  it  much  longer  last ; 
My  pain,  my  care,  all  with  a  word  she  might  forth  from  me  cast, 
What  helps  it  thee,  sweetheart,  to  see  my  life  thus  long  harassed  ? 

Away,  thou  clerk,  thou  art  a  fool,  with  thee  I  will  not  chide ; 
The  day  I  give  my  love  to  thee,  thou  never  shalt  abide ; 

1  Strictly,  "with  gray  eyes,"  that  were  considered  an  especial  beauty  in  the  Middle 
Ages.     Wright,  No.  ii. 

2  We  have  translated  the  poems  given  below,  from  the  originals,  for  the  general 
reader. — Tran.slator. 

'  Wright,  No.  32. 


ENGLISH  SONGS.  307 

If  ill  my  bo-'v  n  thou  art  caught,  then  shame  may  thee  betide ; 
'Tis  better  far  on  foot  to  go,  than  wicked  horse  to  ride ! 

Ah,  well-a-day,  why  say'st  thou  thus  ?     Have  rue  upon  my  woe  ! 
For  thou  art  alway  in  my  thoughts,  wherever  I  do  go, 
And  if  I  die  for  thy  love's  lack,  more  shame  to  thee  'tis  so ! 
Then  let  me  live  and  be  thy  love ;  thy  self  on  me  bestow ! 

Be  still,  thou  fool !   I  call  thee  aright,  will'st  ever  words  begin  ? 
Thou'rt  waited  for  both  day  and  night,  by  father  and  all  my  kin. 
If  in  my  chamber  thou  art  found,  they'll  stop  them  for  no  sin. 
Me  they  will  hold,  and  thee  will  slay;  so  death  thou  mightest  win  ! 

0  sweet,  relent,  thou  grievest  me,  thy  pity  I  implore ; 
For  now  I  am  as  sad  a  man  as  blithe  I  was  before. 

In  window's  shelter  we  could  kiss  full  fifty  times  and  more ; 
A  fair  behest  oft  makes  a  man  forget  his  trouble's  store. 

Alack-a-day,  why  wakest  thou  old  pain  thus  ruthlessly? 

1  loved  a  clerk  once  faithfully,  and  true  he  was  to  me ; 
He  was  not  glad  on  any  day  until  he  could  me  see ; 

I  loved  him  better  than  my  life ;  what  boots  a  lie  to  thee  ? 

When  I  a  clerk  was  in  the  school,  much  did  I  know  of  lore ; 

From  the  deep  wound  dealt  by  thy  love,  sharp  ache  I've  felt,  and  sore  ; 

Far  from  men's  haunt,  in  pilgrim's  garb,  I've  roamed  the  wide  world 

o'er ; 
Have  pity  on  me,  lady  sweet.     Alas,  I  can  no  more. 

Thou  seemest  well  to  be  a  clerk,  for  so  thou  speakest  still. 
No  longer  vexing  dole  shalt  feel  from  my  love-wounds,  nor  ill ; 
Not  father,  mother,  all  my  kin,  shall  hold  me  from  my  will. 
For  thou  art  mine,  and  I  am  thine,  thy  bidding  to  fulfil. 

Another  poet  who  prefers  the  tail-rhyme,  and  whose  great 
liking  for  alliteration  often  leads  to  obscurity,  is  fond  of 
painting  landscapes.'  A  third,  since  he  certainly  belongs  to 
the  west,  makes  a  still  more  liberal  use  of  alliteration ;  he 
compares,  stanza  by  stanza,  his  loved  one  to  all  manner  of 
precious  stones,  flowers,  birds,  and  the  like.^  A  fourth  poet, 
also  from  the  west,  is  partial  to  allegory.  The  song  having 
the  refrain  "  Blow,  northerne  wynd  "  contains  the  following  : 
"  I  told  to  Love  how  this  Beauty  had  seized  a  heart  that  was 
mine,  how  her  knights — Sighing,  Sorrowing,  and  Thought 
— had  sought  me.  These  three  brought  me  to  ruin  against 
the  power  of  Peace.  I  put  further  plaints  to  Love,  how 
Sighing  followed  me,  and  Thought  threatened  to  overcome 
me  with  ipastery  if  he  might,  and  Sorrowing  sore  threatened 
that  he,  for  this  Beauty,  would  lead  me  in  baleful  bands  until 

1  Wright,  Nos.  13  and  14. 
2  liid.,  No.  5. 


3o8  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

the  end  of  my  life,  in  spite  of  every  right.  Love  listened  to 
every  word  and  bent  himself  over  to  me  and  bade  me  seize 
the  treasure  of  my  heart's  weal.  '  Beseech  the  sweetest  one/ 
said  he,  '  before  thou  fallest  like  mud  from  the  foot,  that  she 
share  with  thee,  as  a  precious  treasure,  what  can  help  thee.'  "  ^ 
This  recalls  the  manner  of  such  writers  as  Thibaut  of 
Navarre. 

The  standing  theme  of  these  songs  was  praise  of  the  be- 
loved, or  love-plaints;  but  the  key-note  of  feeling  varied 
greatly  with  the  temperament  of  the  bard.  Compared  with 
the  author  of  the  dialogue  given  above,  how  sanguine  seems 
the  poet  of  the  following  strophes,  despite  his  bitter  pain  : 

Between  soft  March  and  April  showers, 

When  sprays  of  bloom  from  branches  spring, 
And  when  the  little  bird  'mid  flowers 

Doth  song  of  sweetness  loudly  sing : 

To  her  with  longing  love  I  cling, 

Of  all  the  world  the  fairest  thing, 

Whose  thrall  I  am,  who  bliss  can  bring. 
And  give  to  me  life's  crown. 
A  gracious  fate  to  me  is  sent ; 
Methinks  it  is  by  Heaven  lent ; 
From  women  all,  my  heart  is  bent, 
To  light  on  Alysoun. 

Her  sheeny  locks  are  fair  to  see, 

Her  lashes  brown,  her  eyes  of  black; 
With  lovely  mouth  she  smiles  on  me; 

Her  waist  is  slim,  of  lissom  make. 

Unless  as  mate  she  will  me  take. 

To  be  her  own,  my  heart  will  break; 

Longer  to  live  I  will  forsake. 
And  dead  I  will  fall  down. 
A  gracious  fate,  etc. 

All  for  thy  sake  I  restless  turn. 

And  wakeful  hours  sigh  through  at  night ; 
For  thee,  sweet  lady,  do  I  yearn ; 

My  cheeks  wax  wan  in  woeful  plight, 

No  man  so  wise  that  can  aright 

Her  goodness  tell,  her  beauties  bright ; 

Her  throat  is  than  the  swan's  more  white, 
The  fairest  maid  in  town. 
A  gracious  fate,  etc. 

Weary  as  water  in  the  weir, 

With  wooing  I  am  spent  and  worn  ; 

1  Wright,  p.  53. 


SONGS  AND  RELIGIOUS  LYRICS.  309 

Lest  any  reave  me,  much  I  fear, 

And  leave  me  mateless  and  forlorn. 

A  sharp,  short  pain  is  better  borne, 

Than  now  and  evermore  to  mourn. 

My  love,  O  fair  one,  do  not  scorn, 
No  longer  on  me  frown ! 
A  gracious  fate  to  me  is  sent ; 
Methinks  it  is  by  Heaven  lent ;        "; 
From  women  all,  my  heart  is  bent, 
To  light  on  Alysoun. 

An  art-form  resembling  the  Proven9al  and  French  ro- 
mance was  not  unknown  to  these  poets.  The  dialogic  song 
we  have  given  is  essentially  of  this  kind.  The  poem  of  a 
western  minstrel  corresponds  still  more  exactly  with  this  form; 
he  tells  us  of  his  encounter  with  a  coy  country  beauty,  and 
gives  the  dialogue  a  narrative  introduction.^ 

The  estrif  took  on  lyrical  as  well  as  epic  garb.  A  poet  of 
the  time  of  Edward  I.,  writing  in  ryme  couee  and  quite  in  the 
lyrical  tone,  brings  before  us  the  quarrel  between  Throstle 
and  Nightingale'^  about  the  value  of  women.  The  thrush 
despises  the  gentle  sex,  and  quotes  from  sacred  and  profane 
history  (or  from  saga)  a  series  of  examples  of  female  faith- 
lessness and  seductive  arts.  The  nightingale  does  not  cease 
to  extol  the  perfections  of  woman,  but  without  much  effect, 
until  she  names  the  Virgin  Mary,  when  her  opponent  de- 
clares herself  conquered.  The  opening  of  this  poem  corres- 
ponds nearly  word  for  word  with  that  of  a  Spring  and  Love- 
song'^  whose  author  we  have  already  called  a  lyrical  land- 
scape-painter. 

The  religious  lyric  having,  toward  the  close  of  the  last 
period,  reached  a  certain  stage  of  courtly  art,  it  was  at  once 
turned  into  other  courses  by  the  example  of  the  secular  lyric 
that  now  appeared.  This  did  it  no  injury.  In  assimilating 
a  new  style  from  the  erotic  songs  of  the  clerics  and  the  folk- 
songs whence  they  drew,  the  rehgious  lyric  took  up  a  popu- 
lar element  that  in  no  sense~coarsened  it ;  and  without  los- 
ing depth  and  warmth  of  feeling,  it  gained  in  directness  of 
expression.  Perceptive  imagery  took  the  place  of  reflection. 
A  number  of  motives  were  taken  entire  from  the  national 
secular  lyric.     Sometimes  the  opening  words  of  an  amorous 

1  Wright,  No.  10. 

2  W.  Carew  Hazlitt,  Remains  o/the  Early  Popular  Foetty  of  England,  i.  50,  etseq, 
'  Wright,  No.  13. 


5  T  O  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRt'CY. 

song  were  appropriated,  together  with  the  metre  aiid  ir.clody.' 
The  influence  of  the  new  secular  lyric  was  felt  in  the  con- 
struction of  the  strophe,  the  diction,  the  relation  of  ideas, 
and  their  disposal  in  the  strophes. 

Religious  sentiment  also  put  itself  into   communication 
with  the  life  of  nature,  as  in  the  following : 

When  I  see  blossoms  bursting, 

And  hear  blithe  bird-notes  sung, 
With  sweet  love-longing  thirsting, 

My  raptured  heart  is  stung. 
All  from  a  love  that  new  is, 
That  joyous,  full,  and  true  is. 

My  gladsome  song  hath  sprung; 
For  surely  I  know  this  is : 
My  joys,  my  hopes,  my  blisses. 

On  him  alone  are  hung. 

When  with  myself  communing, 

Him  in  my  thoughts  I  see, 
Pierced  hand  and  foot,  and  swooning 

With  cruel  nailings  three  : 
Blood  on  his  head  thorn-riven, 
To  him  no  woe  forgiven, 

That  I  from  pain  be  free : 
Well  should  my  heart  be  aching, 
With  love  his  dole  partaking. 

And  sigh  and  sorry  be.* 

An  autumnal  mood  is  expressed  in  a  song,  one  might 
almost  say  a  roffianze,  of  repentance,^  beginning  thus : 

Now  wither  rose  and  lily-flower. 
That  bore  sweet  savour  for  an  hour. 

In  summer,  that  happy  tide. 
There  is  no  queen  so  proud  in  power. 
No  lady  fair  so  bright  in  bower. 

That  death  shall  not  down-ride. 
Whoso  will  lust  of  flesh  forego 

And  heaven's  bliss  abide, 
On  Jesus  he  his  thought  bestow, 

On  him  with  pierced  side. 

From  Peterborough  one  dewy  morn, 
As  I  went  out  with  hound  and  horn, 

My  folly  I  bethought ; 
I  mourning  turned,  and  sorrowing. 


*  Compare  Nos.  40  and  41  in  Wright,  and  also  Reliquiae  Antiquae 
•■«  Wright,  No.  21.  '  Ibid.^  No.  3a 


•,  I.,  104. 


£NGLISH  SÖNgS.  Jll 

To  her  that  bore  high  heaven's  King, 

For  mercy  her  besought : 
Lady,  O  pray  thy  son  for  grace, 

Who  us  so  dear  hath  bought, 
And  shield  us  from  the  loathsome  place 

That  for  the  fiend  is  wrought. 

The  following  Winter-Song  so  closely  joins  reflection  and 
"^   perception  that  the  whole  becomes  an  image  of  subjective 
feeling : 

Winter  wakeneth  all  my  care ; 

Now  the  leaves  wax  dry  and  bare ; 

Oft  I  mourn  and  in  despair, 

Sigh  when  comes  into  my  thought. 

How  this  world's  joy,  it  goeth  all  to  nought. 

Now  it  is  and  now  no  more, 

As  if  it  ne'er  had  place  before. 

Man  hath  truly  said  of  yore, 

All  goeth  but  God's  will. 

We  all  shall  die,  though  it  may  please  us  ill. 

Sad  thoughts  press  me  sore,  I  ween. 

When  I  see  the  fallow  green. 

Jesus,  let  thy  help  be  seen. 

Go  we  hence,  shield  us  from  hell ; 

I  know  not  whither  I  shall  go  nor  how  long  here  I  dwell. 

The  tone  of  an  Easter- Song,'^  of  which  we  quote  two 
stanzas,  is  popular  and  very  original.  It  probably  dates 
from  the  last  decade  of  the  previous  period,  and  was  per- 
haps less  influenced  by  the  erotic  songs  of  the  clerics  than  by 
the  folk-song : 

Summer  is  come  and  winter  gone, 
Now  days  are  growing  long. 
And  merry  birdlings  every  one 
Rejoice  aloud  with  song. 

But  strong 
Care  me  hath  bound 
Despite  the  joy  whose  echoing  sound 

The  throng. 
All  for  a  child. 
That  is  so  mild. 

Prolong.  2 

•  Morris,  Old  English  Miscellany,  p.  97. 

2  In  the  original,  the  order  of  the  rhymes  in  this  first  stanza  has  suffered  from 
textual  corruption.     V.  6-7  run  thus: 

Kare  me  bint 
Al  wit  ioye  Jjat  is  funde — 
It  is  evident,  from  a  comparison  of  the  other  stanzas,  that  the  poet,  instead  o{  is  funde 


312  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

That  stately  child,  so  mild  of  grace, 
And  with  great  glory  crowned ; 
In  bosk  and  bank  and  woody  place, 
Hath  sought  me  all  around. 

Y-found 
Then  hath  he  me, 
That  was  for  apple  of  a  tree 

Fast  bound ; 
But  brake  the  thong 
That  was  so  strong 

His  wound. 

Dialogue  was  known  also  to  the  religious  lyric.  In  the 
strophic  form  of  the  stabat  mater  was  composed  an  affect- 
ing dialogue  between  the  crucified  Jesus  and  his  mother,^ 
that  nearly  resembles  the  estrif.  The  Debate  of  the  Body 
and  the  Soul,  a  theme  frequent  in  English  poetry  after  the 
beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century,  properly  belongs  to  this 
class  of  writings.  The  monologue  of  the  soul  to  the  corpse 
was  common  to  the  Old  English  time,  as  well  as  to  the  transi- 
tion period;  it  gave  way  to  more  dramatic  dialogue  through 
the  influence  of  Middle  Latin  models. 

In  the  same  way  the  lament  of  Mary  at  the  foot  of  the 
cross  is  changed  into  a  Dispiitatio  viter  Mariain  et  crt^ce??i, 
that  was  imitated  in  English  verse  towards  the  close  of  this 
period,  and  later.^ 

In  popular  proverbial  writings,  new  forms  deserving  of  at- 
tention had  grown  up  since  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth 
century.  They  bear  plain  tokens  of  French  influence, 
although  their  substance  is  mainly  an  ancient  heirloom  of 
native  origin.  But  the  name  of  him  to  whom,  in  earlier 
periods,  this  inheritance  was  ascribed — the  name  of  Aelfred — 
had  vanished.  Its  place  was  taken  by  the  name  of  Hen- 
dyng,  in  which  some,  singularly  enough,  discern  a  personifi- 
cation of  rhyme,  but  which  rather  personifies  mental  adroit- 
ness. 

In  a  Middle  English  collection  from  the  second  half  of 
the  thirteenth  century,  each  of  the  proverbs  given  appears  at 
the  close  of  a  six-lined  strophe  in  ryme  coiiee,  illustrating  it ; 
the  French  collections  of  proverbs  Les  proverbes  del  vilaifi 
and  Les  proverbes  au  conte  de  Bretaigrie,  are  on  a  similar 

(is  found),  wrote  7ne  fint  (men  find,  one  finds).     The  English  translator  has  restored 
the  true  order,  as  I  had  done  before  him  in  the  German  rendering  of  these  stanzas. 

•  Wright,  No.  27. 

*  Legends  0/  tf^t  Holy  Rood,  ed.  R.  Morris,  p.  131,  et  seq. 


POPULAR  PROVERBS.  313 

plan.  In  the  French  texts,  each  proverb  is  followed  by  this 
refrain:  "This  said  (or  "says")  the  peasant,"  while  in  the 
English,  the  refrain  runs  :  "  Quoth  Hendyng."  The  apho- 
risms themselves  are  generally  alliterative,  sometimes  being 
also  ihymed,  but  they  seldom  appear  as  metrical  parts  or 
members  of  the  strophe  to  which  they  are  added. 

The  following  specimens  will  give  an  idea  of  the  mental 
scope  and  the  tone  of  the  collection  : 

(10)  If  thou  wilt  overcome  the  lust  of  the  flesh,  thou  must  often 
fight  and  flee  with  eye  and  with  heai^t ;  by  flesh's  lust  comes  shame : 
though  it  seems  pleasure  to  the  body,  it  brings  smart  to  the  soul. 
"Well  fighteth  that  well  flyeth,"  quoth  Hendyng. 

(11)  The  wise  man  holds  back  his  words  ;  for  he  does  not  begin  to 
play  ere  he  has  tempered  his  pipe.  A  fool  is  a  fool,  and  that  is  seen ; 
for  he  will  speak  green  words  before  they  are  ripe.  "A  fool's  bolt  is 
soon  shot,"  quoth  Hendyng. 

(12)  Tell  thou  never  thy  foeman  the  shame  or  mischief  that  thou 
hast,  thy  care,  nor  thy  woe ;  for  he  will  find  if  he  may,  both  by  night 
and  by  day,  how  of  one  to  make  two.  "Tell  thou  never  thy  foe  that 
thy  foot  acheth,"  quoth  Hendyng.' 

One  of  the  manuscripts  transmitting  the  collection  to  us 
has  an  introductory  strophe  as  follows : 

Men  that  wish  to  hear  wisdom,  they  may  learn  of  the  wise  Hendyng 
that  was  Marcolf 's  son,  good  thoughts  and  many  manners  for  the  in- 
struction of  many  vicious  ones,  for  that  was  ever  his  custom. 

Here  the  name  Hendyng,  be  its  origin  what  it  may,  is 
connected  with  the  name  that  was,  in  the  Middle  Ages,  the 
European  representative  of  popular  wisdom,  or,  more  cor- 
rectly, of  popular  wit.  French  literature  served  also  in  this 
field  as  intermediator.  Collections  of  proverbs  in  six-lined 
strophes,  of  which  the  first  half  contains  a  proverb  of  Salo- 
mon, and  the  second,  the  answer  of  Marcolph  (Marcoul, 
Marcon,  etc.),  are  not  rare  in  PVench  literature.  But  it  is 
strange  that  the  saga  of  Salomon  and  Morolf  never  really 
gained  foothold  in  England,  although  we  find  its  traces  in 
different  periods.  Despite  its  close  relations  with  France, 
and  its  active  commerce  with  North  Germany  and  the  Neth- 
erlands, England  was  then,  as  now,  isolated  by  the  Channel, 
and  thus  had  a  position  in  many  respects  exceptional.  The 
spirit  of  antiquity,  more  carefully  perpetuated  there,  acted 
upon  the  present  with  a  livelier  and  intenser  power;  but 
many  a  newer  germ  that  developed  richly  on  continental  soil, 

1  Wright  and  Halllwell,  Reliquiae  AtUiquae,  I.,  no,  et  seq. ^  Mätzner,  Alienglischt 
Sj>rachproben,  I.,  i,  306. 


3^4  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECV. 

as  the  court-art  and  the  animal-fable,  never  really  thrived  ih 
England. 

VIII. 

At  about  the  same  time  as  the  secular  love-poetry  (strictly 

speaking,  somewhat  earlier),  there  appeared  political  lyrical 
poetry  in  English  literature.  The  oldest  Middle  English 
song  of  this  kind  may  date  from  the  fifth  decade  of  the  thir- 
teenth century.  Yet  this  verse  seems  at  the  time  of  Henry 
III.  still  to  have  been  written  principally  in  Latin  or  Anglo- 
Norman.  Under  Edward  I.  and  his  successors  the  use  of 
the  vernacular  in  this  poetry  spread  more  and  more,  and  the 
Anglo-Norman  gave  way,  until  towards  the  middle  of  the 
fourteenth  century,  when  Latin  and  English  shared  it  in 
common. 

The  fosterers  of  the  political  lyric  are  to  be  sought  in  this 
period  among  two  classes :  the  glee-men  and  the  clergyjjn 
the  broadest  sense. 

The  English  glee-man  was  little  initiated  into  the  mysteries 
of  parties ;  his  audience  was  a  very  mixed  one,  and  only  in 
rare  cases  had  he  a  powerful  patron,  as  did  the  Norman 
minstrel,  in  the  higher  circles  of  society.  Hence  his  poetry 
was  in  the  service  of  national  interests,  as  they  were  under- 
stood by  the  people.  .  His  proper  mission  was  to  celebrate 
victorious  battles,  to  praise  the  heroes  of  the  nation  and  to 
pursue  its  enemies  with  scorn. 

Thus  the  glee-man  took  sides  with  the  people  in  the  civil 
wars  during  the  reign  of  Henry  III.  A  song  on  the  Battle 
of  Lewes  (1264)  heaps  bitter  derision  upon  the  adherents  of 
the  defeated  court-party,  and  above  all  on  the  "  king  of  Ger- 
many," Richard  of  Cornwall,  King  Henry's  brother,  who 
was  a  thorn  in  the  flesh  of  the  people  on  account  of  his  for- 
eign sovereignty  and  the  manner  in  which  he  gained  it,  his 
equivocal  attitude,  his  corruptibility,  and  the  voluptuous  Hfe 
of  which  he  was  accused.  The  poem  dwells  with  much 
relish  upon  the  circumstance  that  Richard,  after  the  loss 
of  the  battle,  occupied  a  mill  with  a  part  of  his  men,  and  de- 
fended it  as  if  it  had  been  a  castle.  The  refrain  recurring 
at  the  close  of  each  stanza  announces,  in  a  harsh  play  of 
words,  that  the  glorv  of  the  traitor  is  at  an  end: 


Ballads.  315 

Richard,  thah  thou  be  ever  trichard, 
trichen  shalt  thou  never  more.l 

**  Richard,  though  thou  be  ever  a  traitor,  thou  shalt  treason  never 
more." 

In  the  reign  of  Edward  L,  a  glee-man  celebrates  with  full 
detail  the  great  victory  of  the  Flemish  burghers  over  French 
knighthood  at  Courtrai,  or  Kortryk  (1302).  "  Listen,  Lord- 
ings,  both  young  and  old,  of  the  Frenchmen  that  were  so 
proud  and  bold,  how  the  Flemish  men  bought  and  sold 
them  upon  a  Wednesday.  Better  it  had  been  for  them  at 
home  in  their  land,  than  to  seek  Flemings  on  the  sea-strand, 
wherefore  many  a  French  woman  wringeth  her  hands  and 
singeth,  welaway !  "^ 

The  wars  with  the  Scots  gave  rise  to  many  popular  poems 
of  occasion,  that  have,  for  the  most  part,  been  lost.  Peter 
de  Langtoft  has  handed  down  in  his  chronicle  a  number  of 
short  songs  in  the  versus  tripertitus  caudatiis,  as  they  were 
probably  first  sung  in  the  army,  and  afterwards  by  peasants 
and  citizens,  especially  in  the  north  of  England. 

A  rather  long  ballad  has  come  to  us  complete  from  the 
time  of  Edward  I.  It  originated  soon  after  the  victory  at 
Kirkenclifif  (1306),  and  is  mainly  occupied  with  the  capture 
and  execution  of  Sir  Simon  Fräser,  whose  head  was  set  up 
on  London  Bridge  close  by  that  of  William  Wallace. 

These  ballads  are  borne  upon  an  ardent,  naive  patriotism 
that  sees  the  punishing  hand  of  God  in  the  destruction  of 
the  enemy,  and  utilises  it  as  a  warning  example.  Artless  in 
style  and  composition,  they  throughout  show  a  combination 
of  lyrical  and  epic  elements,  but  so  varied  that  now  the  epic 
element  predominates,  as  in  the  Sojtg  on  the  battle  of  Kor- 
tryk, and  now,  as  in  the  Song  on  the  King  of  Almaigne.  the 
epic  material  is  entirely  moulded  to  the  lyric  aim. 

The  metrical  form  of  such  poems  grew  from  a  long  line, 
whose  structure  recalls  both  the  Old  English  verse  and  the 
Alexandrine.  It  generally  occurred  in  four-lined  single- 
rhymed  strophes,  which  are  often  accompanied  by  a  refrain ; 
the  strophe  more  rarely  consists  of  two  tiercets,  each  one 
trailing  after  it  a  shorter  line  in  the  manner  of  the  ryme 
couee. 

1  Th.  Wright,  Political  Songs  of  Englatid^  p.  69. 
2  Ibid.,  p,  187. 


3l6  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

If  the  glee-men  seldom  touched  upon  higher  party-politics, 
they  oftentimes  ventured  upon  the  field  of  social  satire.  But 
it  is  probable  that  they  did  not  choose  too  high  marks  for 
^^  their  shafts.  A  glee-man's  song  from  the  beginning  of  the 
fourteenth  century  denounces,  in  harsh  and  bitter  language, 
the  behaviour  of  the  servants  of  the  rich  and  noble,  the  pages, 
grooms,  and  stable-boys,  whose  love  of  show,  gluttony,  and 
dissolute  life  are  caustically  described.  "  While  God  was  on 
earth  and  wandered  wide,  what  was  the  reason  he  would  not 
ride  ?  For  he  would  not  a  groom  to  go  by  his  side,  no  wide- 
mouthed  fellow  to  neigh  nor  to  chide." 

But  satire  was,  as  a  whole,  the  province  of  the  clergy,  the 
learned.  Neither  rank  nor  power  shielded  men  from  their 
attacks ;  all  classes  of  society  had  to  submit  to  be  pilloried 
by  them.  The  abuses  in  state  and  church,  especially  the  lat- 
ler,  bad  measures  of  government,  social  evils,  moral  rotten- 
ness in  clergy  and  laity,  all  served  as  material  for  satire.  It 
now  became  customary  to  vary  in  the  English  language  the 
themes  that  for  a  long  time  had  been  treated  in  Latin  verse, 
and,  in  France  and  England,  in  French  verse. 

Shortly  before  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  century  ap- 
peared a  bitter  lament  on  the  corruption  and  slavery  of  the 
church;  its  tone  is  dignified,  and  seems  to  proceed  from  a 
deeply  serious  sentiment.  It  is  called  Hwon  holy  chireche  is 
vnder  fote} 

Formerly  St.  Peter  was  called  Simon.  Then  quoth  our  Lord  to 
him,  "Thou  shalt  be  called  stone.  I  will  set  my  church  upon  thee." 
.  .  .  Those  that  should  defend  her  are  now  her  foes.  Of  all  her  for- 
mer friends  she  now  has  none.  Therefore  is  her  honour  well-nigh  all 
gone. 

Then  Simon  was  here,  and  now  is  Simony,  that  hath  marred  a  great 
part  of  the  clergy.  Bid  we  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  that  he  save  her  for 
the  love  of  his  sweet  mother,  St.  Mary. 

St.  Peter  was  pope  in  Rome.  There  is  the  head,  and  ought  to  be, 
of  Christendom.  Clement  and  Gregory  that  came  after  him  often  had 
trouble  and  sorrow.  For  they  held  Christ's  men  with  peace  and  con- 
cord, and  also  the  holy  church  without  bondage. 

Then  she  stood  full  fast,  and  afterwards  for  some  time.  Now  they 
cast  at  her  with  marks  and  with  pounds  of  silver  and  gold  to  fell  her 
to  the  ground.     No  one  now  will  suffer  for  her  death  nor  wounds. 

St.  Thomas  suffered  death  for  her  all  unjustly,  the  archbishop 
Stephen  fought  for  her,  and  St.  Edmund  full  fairly  endowed  her.  To 
keep  her  honour  they  did  all  their  might.     Now,  holy  church  is  in  evil 

1  Morris,  Old  English  Miscellany,  p.  89. 


SATIRE  ON  CHURCH  AND  STATE.  317 

hands.  All  war  against  her  that  live  in  the  land;  bishops  and  clerks, 
knights  and  knaves,  kings  and  earls,  have  nialice  toward  her.  And 
the  pope  himself,  who  should  defend  her — if  he  have  his  gifts  of  silver 
and  gold,  marks  and  pounds,  with  right  or  wrong — he  lets  them  all  do 
their  will,  who  are  so  very  strong. 

Woe  that  in  our  day  she  is  so  under  foot.  Bid  we  all  Jesus  Christ 
that  he  send  her  help,  for  his  sweet  mother's  love,  that  is  so  fair  and 
sweet,  and  that  we  may  see  it  in  this  life.     Amen. 

Similar  complaints  occur  more  frequently  in  later  times, 
if  not  always  in  the  dignified  manner  of  this  poem,  whose 
author  belonged  to  that  southern  English  school  of  poetry 
that  could  claim  the  composer  of  the  Poej7ta  morale  as  its 
founder. 

The  objects  of  satire  grew  more  manifold  in  the  reign 
of  Edward  I.  It  became  the  advocate  of  the  poor  people, 
of  the  peasant  class,  whose  position  in  the  glorious  and 
blessed  reign  of  that  great  prince  was  perhaps  not  less  pre- 
carious than  later  under  the  rule  of  "  Queen  Bess."  The 
Song  of  the  Hiisband?nan  ^  is  a  lament  of  the  husbandman 
who,  in  spite  of  bad  harvests  and  dearth,  must  pay  the  king 
high  taxes  for  his  wars,  and  who  is  tormented  and  drained 
to  his  life's  blood  by  foresters,  rangers,  and  bailiffs.  They 
hunt  him  as  the  hound  does  the  hare;  he  sees  himself  com- 
pelled to  sell  his  grain  while  it  is  still  as  green  as  grass.  He 
must  give  up  all  that  he  has  saved  during  the  whole  year. 
Another  poem  ^  shows  how  heavily  the  hand  of  the  great 
rested  upon  the  small  people,  how  their  greed  robbed  the 
poor,  either  by  force  or  by  cunning,  of  the  merest  neces- 
saries, and  how  the  lowly  were  unable  to  procure  justice. 
The  harshest  truths  are  said  of  royal  equity  by  the  fable  of 
the  lion,  who  sits  in  judgment  over  the  wolf,  fox,  and  ass, 
and  makes  the  innocent  do  penance  for  what  the  guilty  have 
committed. 

Lighter  themes  are  touched  as  well ;  as,  the  trouble  of  the 
layman  who,  charged  with  seducing  a  woman,  must  appear 
before  an  ecclesiastical  court,  whose  members  and  whose 
actions  are  depicted  with  unsparing  hand;^  or  the  ostenta- 
tion of  women  and  their  passion  for  dress;  how  they  often 
buy  a  robe  when  they  possess  no  smock,** — subjects  that 

•  Wright,  Political  Songs,  p.  149,  et  seq. 

^  Ibid.,  p.  19s,  et  seq. 

^  Ibid.,  p.  155,  et  seq. 

4  Ibid.,  p.  53. 


3l8  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

would  please  the  wandering  students.  Sometimes  the  poet 
makes  merry  over  the  fruitless  disputations  of  the  scholastics, 
over  their  Jiego^  diihito^  concedo} 

We  have  but  few  products  of  the  muse  of  satire  from  the 
mournful  reign  of  Edward  IL,  but  some  of  them  are  very 
attractive.  In  October  of  the  year  131 1,  the  king  had 
signed  a  document  conceding  the  fullest  rights  to  Parlia- 
ment, and  especially  to  the  Upper  House.  But  before  the 
close  of  the  year,  he  had  broken  his  word  under  the  influ- 
ence of  his  favourite.  Piers  de  Gaveston,  who  had  returned 
from  banishment.  This  fact  gave  rise  to  a  poem  that  em- 
ploys different  metres  for  its  different  portions,  and  in  the 
introduction,  regularly  alternates  between  Anglo-Norman 
and  Enghsh  verses.  In  the  body  of  it  four  sages  describe 
and  explain,  in  brief,  striking  aphorisms,  the  condition  of 
the  country,  according  to  a  very  popular  saga  that  was  also 
admitted  into  the  Gesta  Romanonun. 

The  first  said :  I  understand,  no  king  may  be  well  in  the  land,  un- 
der God  Almighty,  unless  he  can  himself  read  how  he  shall  in  the  land 
lead  every  man  with  right.  For  might  is  right,  light  is  night,  and 
fight  is  flight.  Because  might  is  right,  the  land  is  lawless  ;  because 
night  is  light,  the  land  is  loreless ;  because  fight  is  flight,  the  land  is 
nameless.^ 

The  second  sage  follows  with  these  apothegms :  "  Now 
one  is  two,  weal  is  woe,  friend  is  foe,"  and  similarly,  the  third 
and  fourth  sages. 

Another  poem  that  must  have  originated  about  1316-17, 
shows  satire  in  a  quite  advanced  stage  as  regards  scope  and 
matter.  It  is  not  content  with  attacks  on  the  vices  and 
abuses  of  single  classes  or  ranks  of  men,  or  with  general 
allusions  to  the  degeneracy  of  society ;  it  takes  up  the  vari- 
ous classes  in  turn,  and  pitilessly  lays  bare  their  social 
blemishes.  The  land  suffers  with  a  thousand  evils :  war, 
murder,  scarcity,  famine,  pestilence,  —  whence  comes  all 
this  ?  The  poet  conceives  the  cause  to  lie  in  the  universal 
sinfulness  that  calls  down  God's  avenging  arm.  Truth  and 
right  are  down,  deceit  and  treachery  are  almighty.  The 
review  is  begun  with  the  church  at  Rome.  From  thence 
Truth  should  proceed,  but  the  palace  is  forbidden  him ;  he 
fears  to  enter  it,  even  if  the  pope  should  call  him.     For  all 

'  Wright,  Political  Songs,  p.  210. 
^  Ibid.,  p.  254. 


POLITICAL  SATIRE.  319 

the  clerks  of  the  pope  have  conspired  for  Truth's  destruction, 
and  if  he  should  meet  Simony  he  would  shake  Truth's  beard. 
Without  gold  and  silver  even  the  most  learned,  most  holy- 
clerk  can  accomplish  nothing  at  the  Roman  court;  with 
gold  and  silver  even  the  adulterer  and  wretch  can  there 
attain  their  ends.  Covetousness  and  Simony  rule  the  whole 
world.  The  archbishops  and  bishops  should  keep  strict 
oversight  of  the  servants  of  the  church,  but  many  of  them 
lead  questionable  lives  themselves,  and  hence  dare  not  speak. 
Also,  no  man  can  serve  two  masters ;  they  are  servants  of 
the  king,  and  gather  gold  in  heaps,  and  let  the  church  alone. 
The  arch-deacons  are  open  to  bribery  and  let  the  parson 
have  a  wife,  and  the  curate  another  at  will.  If  an  old  priest 
dies,  the  young  clerk  hurries  to  make  presents  to  the  patron 
and  bishop  :  who  offers  most  shall  have  the  church.  When 
the  young  priest  is  installed,  his  first  work  is  to  amass  money. 
Then  he  rides  with  hawks  and  hounds,  keeps  a  concubine, 
wears  fine  clothes,  and  lives  high.  If  the  bishop  hears  of 
this,  a  little  silver  is  sufficient  to  stop  his  mouth.  The  par- 
son has  a  curate,  a  good  confessor,  who  leads  a  clean  life. 
Another,  who  can  hardly  read  the  mass,  does  the  work  some- 
what more  cheaply ;  he  receives  the  place.  The  outlook  is 
no  better  in  the  monasteries;  pride  and  envy  reign  in  all 
orders;  the  abbots  and  priors  counterfeit  the  knights  and 
ride  a-hunting ;  the  poor  man  knocks  in  vain  at  the  abbey, 
but  the  knave,  sent  by  a  powerful  lord  who  might  do  the 
abbot  harm,  is  admitted  at  once,  and  served  with  the  best. 
"  Look  how  they  love  God  who  thus  serve  his  own."  The 
monks  suffer  heavily  for  love  of  God :  they  wear  socks  in 
their  shoes  and  felt-boots  over  them ;  they  are  well  nourished 
with  flesh  and  fish,  and  when  the  roast  is  good  they  leave 
little  in  the  dish ;  so  kill  they  their  bodies  to  keep  Christ's 
commandment.  After  meals  they  have  a  pain  that  hurts 
them  sore;  then  they  are  wont  to  drink  in  one  draught  a 
quart  or  more  of  good,  strong  beer,  and  afterwards  they  go 
to  their  rest.  Thus  they  chastise  their  bodies  by  night  and 
day.  The  new  orders,  the  mendicant  monks,  are  not  spared. 
Minorites,  Jacobites,^  CarmeHtes,  and  Augustins ;  they,  too, 
do  all  for  money.  They  like  to  visit  the  rich  man  in  sick- 
ness, and  let  the  poor  one  lie.     If  the  rich  man  dies,  the 

1  Pominigans. 


320  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

brethren  fight  for  his  corpse.  "  It  is  not  only  for  the  calf 
that  the  cow  lows,  but  it  is  for  the  green  grass  that  grows  on 
the  meadow  so  good."  liext  comes  the  turn  of  the  knightly- 
orders,  the  Hospitallers,  wh^a  are  reminded  of  the  fate  of  the 
Templars  :  "  Property  comes  and  goes  like  clouds  in  March." 
TJie  chapters  and  consistories  are  then  taken  up.  It  is 
easy  to  attain  an  end  with  them  by  bribing  judges  and  wit- 
nesses. Thereupon  appears  the  physician  who  helps  men  to 
die.  The  poet  graphically  tells  how  the  physician,  with  im- 
portant professional  manner,  alternately  raises  hope  and  fear 
in  the  bosom  of  the  sick  man's  wife,  how,  at  great  expense, 
he  has  meats  and  drinks  procured,  which  he  himself  con- 
sumes, while  he  makes  the  patient  swallow  vile  nostrums 
that  only  aggravate  his  condition,  and  how,  after  he  has  en- 
joyed the  night  in  the  house  of  the  patient,  he  calls  out 
triumphantly  the  next  morning,  "  Blessed  be  God,  dame,  the 
master  is  saved ! "  and  leaves  the  house  laden  with  silver. 
After  the  clergy,  which,  in  a  measure,  includes  the  physician, 
the  satirist  turns  his  attention  to  the  laity.  Counts,  barons, 
and  knights  are  brought  before  us,  w^ho  oppress  the  church 
instead  of  defending  it,  stir  up  strife  at  home  instead  of  going 
to  the  Holy  Land,  who  behave  in  the  hall  like  lions,  and 
like  hares  in  the  field.  The  knights  dress  fantastically,  as  if 
they  were  glee-men ;  unripe  boys  are  now  taken  into  their 
ranks;  swearing  and  cursing  are  counted  manly,  and  the 
squires  imitate  their  knights  in  all  this.  But  we  must  be 
brief,  and  refer  the  reader  to  the  poet  himself,  who  tells  how 
the  royal  justices,  ministers,  sheriffs,  judges,  bailiffs,  and 
beadles,  how  advocates,  assize-justices,  how  bakers,  brewers, 
merchants,  conduct  themselves.  Wrong  and  cheating  are 
everywhere;  in  every  walk  of  life  the  poor  and  honest  are 
oppressed  and  plundered.  The  satirist  portrays  all  this,  not 
without  repetition  in  details,  but  still  with  graphic  force  and 
at  times  with  biting  wit.  His  entire  work  bespeaks  a  pious, 
upright  spirit,  roused  by  righteous  indignation,  so  that  here 
the  words  Facit  ifidigjiatio  versuni  apply  in  the  fullest  sense. 
We  close  with  one  more  passage  from  his  poem : 

The  pope  greets  well  all  unlearned  men,  William,  Richard,  and 
John,  and  gives  them  to  understand  that  there  is  no  more  Truth;  and 
says  that  he  who,  without  any  process  of  law,  drove  Truth  out  of  the 
land,  deserves  to  be  hanged  and  drawn.  Alas,  as  long  as  Truth  was 
in  the  land,  he  was  certainly  a  good  friend. 


ATTEMPTS  AT  COURTLY  POETRY.  32 1 

A  greater  diversity  of  metre  appears  in  this  clerical  satire, 
as  compared  with  the  patriotic  ballad.  Shorter  lines  become, 
beside  the  long  line,  an  element  of  the  strophe ;  and  together 
with  the  coupling-rhyme  {ry  me  plate)  ^  alternating  rhyme  plays 
an  important  part.  The  poets  of  the  w^est  showed  also  in 
these  writings  their  fondness  for  alliteration,  which  in  the 
south  and  east  was  generally  used  casually,  in  certain  formu- 
las and  phrases. 

A  species  of  the  Provengal  art-poesy,  the  dirge  {planh), 
already  imitated  by  North  French  poets  at  the  time  of 
Henry  II.,  is  represented  in  the  English  lyric  of  this  period 
by  only  one  poem.  An  Anglo-Norman  minstrel  wrote  such 
a  song  upon  the  Death  of  Edward  /,  "  the  flower  of  chiv- 
alry" (1307),  that  was  afterwards  fairly  translated  into  his 
own  language  by  an  Englishman,  presumably  a  cleric.  Still 
earlier,  perhaps  as  early  as  the  reign  of  Henry  III.,  the 
descort^  had  been  similarly  imitated  in  English,  in  the  Pris- 
oners Prayer  (or  lament  of  a  captive  knight,  probably  a  victim 
of  the  civil  wars).  This  writing,  by  a  remarkable  chance, 
was  inserted  at  the  end  of  the  Liber  de  Antiqtds  Legibus  pre- 
served in  the  Guildhall  of  the  city  of  London.  True  court- 
art,  in  the  mediaeval  sense,  never  came  to  more  than  a  few 
attempts  in  England. 

In  passing,  w^e  must  remember  a  poet  of  the  time  of  Ed- 
ward (the  second,  or  perhaps  the  first  ?),  who  deserves  atten- 
tion less  as  a  poet  than  as  a  man,  less  from  the  aesthetic 
standing-point  than  from  the  pathological.  This  is  Adam 
Davy,  "marchal"^  of  Stratford-at-Bow,  near  London,  w^ho 
perhaps  had  wide  celebrity  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  capi- 
tal. Adam  was  a  visionary,  and  what  he  saw  in  visions  he 
wrote  down  by  higher  inspiration  for  the  king,  using  short 
couplets,  in  part  of  questionable  construction.  His  Visions 
concerned  King  Edward,  whom  he  sees  in  his  dream  in 
various  situations  and  surroundings,  but  who  is  everywhere 
a  chosen  vessel  of  divine  mercy,  the  predestined  emperor  of 
Christendom.  Despite  the  sometimes  halting  verse,  the  style 
is  not  bad ;  and  the  brevity  of  the  poem  is  a  great  advantage. 

1  A  descort  is  a  poem  in  strophes  of  varjring  rhythm  and  unequal  number  of  lines 
The  Provenfal  poets  were  fond  of  using  this  form  to  express  an  unsatisfied,  discordant 
mood. 

2  What  this  much-meaning  word  exactly  signifies  here,  I  cannot  say. 

V 


32  2  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECV. 

During  the  first  half  of  the  reign  of  Edward  III.,  the 
EngUsh  poUtical  lyric  found  a  gifted  representative  in  the 
Northumbrian,  Laurence  Minot,  Minot  seems  to  have 
been  only  a  glee-man,  though  one  about  to  become  a  min- 
strel ;  that  is,  to  find  permanent  employment  in  the  house- 
hold of  some  nobleman.  Political  ballad-poetry  perhaps 
reached  its  highest  point  in  the  patriotic  songs  of  Minot. 

These  songs  were  composed  between  1333  and  1352,  and 
they  celebrate  King  Edward's  wars  :  the  victory  of  Halidon 
Hill,  the  expedition  to  Brabant,  the  first  invasion  of  France, 
the  sea-fight  at  Sluys,  the  siege  of  Tournay,  the  battle  of 
Crecy,  the  siege  of  Calais,  the  victory  won  over  David  Bruce 
by  the  archbishop  of  York  at  Neville's  Cross,  the  defeat  of 
the  Spanish  fleet  in  1350,  and  the  capture  of  the  Castle  of 
Guisnes  in  1352.  The  poems  were  evidently  written,  for  the 
most  part,  under  the  immediate  impression  of  the  events. 
When  enthusiasm  lasted  long,  the  poet  would  perhaps,  after 
a  time,  add  a  second  song  to  the  one  first  written.  The  song 
celebrating  the  day  at  Halidon  Hill  is  followed  by  another 
that  reminds  the  Scots  of  their  victory  at  Bannockburn  (13 14, 
reign  of  Edward  H.),  now  so  brilliimtly  avenged  by  King 
Edward  HI.  Sometimes  a  new  poem  was  combined  with  an 
earlier  one;  thus  the  song  on  the  first  invasion  of  France 
was  connected  with  the  account  of  Edward's  expedition  to 
Brabant  by  a  few  introductory  verses.  Minot  afterward  col- 
located all  the  poems  in  their  chronological  sequence.  The 
copy  we  have  seems  to  have  been  made  in  the  days  of  Henry 
v.,  when  Azincourt  revived  the  memory  of  Crecy. 

Minot  yields  nothing  to  his  predecessors  among  the  glee- 
men  in  glowing  patriotism,  in  pride  in  England's  greatness, 
and  in  the  heroism  of  her  sons,  or  in  love  and  reverence 
for  his  king.  He,  too,  gives  these  sentiments  a  very  marked 
religious  colouring.  And  most  inconsistently,  he  feels, 
like  his  predecessors,  only  hatred  and  contempt  for  the  na- 
tion's enemies,  an  inconsistency  that  is  but  too  common. 
He  heaps  bitter  scorn,  often  vented  in  coarse  nicknames, 
upon  the  French,  their  king,  their  leaders,  and  still  more, 
upon  the  Scots.  But  he  stands  out  clearly  from  the  more 
ancient  ballad-writers,  in  the  subjective  side  of  his  poetry. 
We  see  Laurence  Minot  personally  anxious  for  the  welfare 
of  England,  personally  praying  for  country  and  king;  and 


LAURENCE  MINOT.  323 

the  proud  exultation  over  victories  won  that  breaks  forth  in 
his  songs,  sounds  from  Hps  that  speak  in  the  name  of  the 
whole  nation,  but  none  the  less  in  the  name  of  this  definite 
personality. 

The  style  and  metrical  form  of  Minot's  songs  are  also  in- 
dividual, however  they  may  conform  to  tradition,  and  regard- 
less of  the  fact  that  all  the  elements  into  which  exact  analysis 
resolves  them,  were  found  already  existing  by  the  poet.  His 
originality  consists  in  the  blending  of  the  technique  of  the 
glee-men's  song  with  that  of  the  clerical  lyric. 

The  art-tradition,  from  which  his  style  evidently  came, 
appears  to  have  arisen  in  the  western  counties  of  England, 
It  may  have  been  transplanted  by  way  of  Lancashire  into 
Northumbria  proper,  east  of  the  Peak  mountains ;  its  traces 
are  there  early  evident  in  the  religious  lyric. 

Minot  everywhere  combines  end-rhyme  with  alliteration. 
He  does  not  always  use  the  latter  with  the  same  vigour  and 
power, — not  in  short  lines  as  in  long ;  but,  on  the  whole,  he 
employs  it  consistently,  though  not  holding  to  the  strict  Old 
English  rules. 

This  fundamental  principle  was  brought  to  bear  in  a  great 
diversity  of  forms.  Minot  bequeathed  to  us  eleven  poems, 
or  more  correctly  ten ;  for  the  two  songs  on  Crecy  and 
Calais  together  make  a  single  poem.  Five  of  them  are 
written  in  a  glee-man's  stanza,  which  is  sometimes  varied. 
The  remaining  five  have  each  a  special  form  as  follows :  a  b 
a  b  a  b  a  b,  in  lines  of  four  and  of  three  accents ;  ^  a  b  a  b  b 
c  b  c,  in  verses  of  four  accents ;  a  six-Hned  strophe  in  ryme 
couee;  and  finally  the  short  couplet.  A  glance  shows  all 
these  to  be  well-known  forms. 

The  metre  exerts  an  unmistakable  influence  upon  the  tone 
and  style  of  each  song.  Yet  all  these  poems  have  a  vein  in 
common.  Amplification  of  expression,  a  diction  now  popu- 
lar, now  possessing  archaic  elegance,  always  animated, 
though  neither  graphic  nor  lucid,  are  its  chief  characteristics. 
These  are  variously  due  to  the  alliteration;  but  there  are 
other  causes. 

Minot  was  fond  of  increasing  the  technical  difiiculties  of 
his  task.     He  was  wont,  in  almost  all  his  strophic  poems,  to 

1  The  verse  has  three  accents  in  the  poem  on  the  siege  of  Tournay,     Its  last  stro- 
phes were  extended  so  as  to  resemble  the  strophe  of  Sir  Tristrem, 


324  FROM  LEWES  TO  CRECY. 

unite  the  end  of  a  stanza  more  closely  with  the  beginning 
of  a  refrain,  or  of  a  following  stanza,  by  the  repetition  of  a 
word  or  idea.  This  was  unknown  neither  to  the  Provengal 
art-poesy,  nor  to  the  lyric  of  western  England.  In  this  way 
many  starting-points  for  the  development  of  the  thought  are 
determined  by  chance;  now  the  poet  seems  to  retrograde, 
and  now  to  take  a  by-path.  Nevertheless,  he  advances,  and 
when  he  reaches  the  end  of  the  poem  he  has  virtually  said 
what  he  wished  to  say.  But  he  has  not,  after  all,  given  a 
vivid  picture  of  the  event  that  he  sings.  We  obtain  the  parts 
of  such  a  picture  singly,  like  fragments  that  the  waves  of 
lyrical  movement  have  borne  to  the  shore.  For  with  Minot 
the  lyrical  element  is  decidedly  uppermost;  it  is  unfortunately 
not  powerful  enough  in  itself  to  enchain  our  interest. 

Thus  the  impression  we  receive  is  very  positive,  but  by 
no  means  unmixed ;  the  impression  made  by  a  gifted  man, 
who,  half  folk-poet  and  half  art-poet,  is  neither  entirely,  and 
hence  must  rank  beneath  many  less  important  writers. 


We  here  close  the  third  book,  although  the  material  that 
invites  our  consideration  in  the  period  just  treated  is  by  no 
means  exhausted.  During  the  century  that  we  have  trav- 
ersed, the  more  ancient  forms  of  the  English  drama  were 
developing.  In  no  province  of  writing,  however,  would  it 
be  less  advisable  to  sacrifice  the  advantages  of  a  continuous 
account  for  the  sake  of  chronology,  than  in  this.  We  there- 
fore reserve  the  discussion  on  the  beginnings  of  the  drama 
for  an  epoch  when  more  copious  material  shall  allow  us  more 
fully  to  present  its  significance  in  the  intellectual  life  of  Old 
England. 


BOOK  IV. 

PRELUDE  TO  THE  REFORMATION  AND 
THE  RENAISSANCE. 


Per  correr  migliori  acque  alza  le  vele 
Omai  la  navicella  del  mio  ingegno. 

Dante. 


I. 

At  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  century,  the  Anglo-Nor- 
man speech  had  not  yet  died  out  in  England,  but  it  only 
prolonged  a  partly  artificial  and  partly  starved  vitality. 
French  was  spoken  and  written  at  the  court  of  him  who 
first  bore  the  title  of  King  of  France  and  England,  and  in 
many  circles  of  the  nobility ;  in  somewhat  the  same  way  as 
it  was  written  by  Frederick  the  Great  of  Prussia.  But  it 
was  the  brilliant  victories  of  the  third  Edward  over  France — 
victories,  it  is  true,  whose  splendour  had  no  correspondingly 
permanent  results — that  imparted  to  the  English  national 
feeling  a  lofty  enthusiasm  that  may  be  compared  to  the 
awakening  of  German  self-consciousness  under  Frederick 
the  Great.  A  knowledge  of  the  foreign  language  was  with 
difficulty  preserved  in  the  remoter  circles  of  the  population, 
by  the  influence  of  legislation,  and  still  more  by  the  judiciary 
and  the  school.  In  the  two  last-named  departments,  how- 
ever, a  change  of  practice  soon  became  necessary.  French 
as  the  medium  of  instruction  in  the  Latin  schools  was  dis- 
placed by  English,  under  Edward  III. ;  and  as  early  as  the 
ninth  year  of  Richard  II. 's  reign  (1386),  the  honest  Trevisa 
complains  that  the  "  children  of  grammar  schools "  knew 
no  more  French  than  their  left  heel.  In  the  judiciary  the 
language  of  the  conquerors  was  forced  to  yield  to  English  as 
early  as  1362,  because  it  was  "  too  little  known."  Parliament 
was  also,  in  the  same  year,  opened  for  the  first  time  in  the  Eng- 
lish language.  But  the  proceedings  of  this  parliament  were 
still  carried  on  in  French,  and  this  practice  held  its  own, 
with  slight  exceptions,  until  the  reign  of  Henry  VI.  The 
statutes  continued  to  be  published  in  the  same  language 
down  to  a  later  period. 

It  is  certain  that  in  the  second  half  of  the  fourteenth  cent- 
ury England  was  no  longer  a  truly  bi-lingual  country.     The 

327 


328        PRELUDE  TO  REFORMATION  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

Anglo-Norman,  at  that  time,  was  as  a  yellowed  leaf  on  a 
luxuriantly  budding  bough. 

The  English  tongue  had  not  yet  begun  to  conquer  its  cos- 
mopolitan position;  but  it  was  approaching  the  form  in 
which  it  was  to  become  a  universal  language.  In  most  of 
the  dialects,  and  not  one  of  them  had  yet  risen  to  sole  pre- 
eminence, inflection  was  already  much  reduced,  in  some  of 
them,  to  the  minimum ;  nearly  all  had  that  loose  and  simple 
structure  which  gradually  transferred  the  grammatical  centre 
of  gravity  into  the  domain  of  word  arrangement.  All,  with- 
out exception,  disclosed  the  wealth  of  meaning  and  delicate 
shadings  characteristic  of  a  mixed  vocabulary. 

English  literature,  despite  its  modest  beginning,  had  also 
made  the  most  far-reaching  conquests  in  the  epochs  passed, 
and  had  based  its  future  greatness  upon  rude  but  solid  foun- 
dations. The  Englishman  would  fain  draw  from  an  ample 
store.  The  noise  of  life,  the  fulness  of  reality,  do  not  con- 
fuse him,  but  excite  his  mental  elasticity.  He  likes  to  find 
his  way  in  a  labyrinth,  to  dispose  himself  at  will  in  lavish 
surroundings.  His  art  thrives  only  on  the  broadest  realistic 
basis;  his  worldly  wisdom  is  the  sum  of  a  prolonged  series 
of  single  observations;  his  law  rests  on  precedent;  his  poli- 
tics is  all  tradition. 

This  realism,  tending  to  the  accumulation  of  things  and 
facts,  and  rejoicing  in  the  diversity  of  life,  was  clearly  mani- 
fested in  the  literature  of  the  previous  period.  English  po- 
etry had  acquired  a  wealth  of  materials  for  fiction.  It 
showed,  as  yet,  few  traces  of  intellectual  mastery,  or  artistic 
moulding  of  them.  The  Enghsh  taste  itself  still  lacked  de- 
velopment in  form.  Hence  its  power  of  assimilation  could 
reveal  itself  in  but  a  limited  degree.  It  was  manifested  in 
the  first  place  in  the  choice  of  matter;  one  theme  was  pre- 
ferred, or  another  set  aside,  according  to  the  writer's  craving 
for  strong  and  lasting  excitement.  It  was  further  manifested 
in  the  skill  with  which  concrete  detail  was  adjusted  to  the 
costume  of  native  conceptions,  or  in  the  boldness  with  which 
the  popular  poet  drew  the  substance  from  the  artistic  form 
that  enveloped  it,  and  clothed  it  in  new  and  ruder  garb.  It 
was  manifested  in  the  humour  that  now  and  then  broke  forth, 
in  the  intimate  relationship  with  the  life  of  nature  that  we 
have  observed,  in  the  moral  earnestness  pervading  the  poems 


REVIVAL  OF  ALLITERATIVE  POETRY.         329 

of  didactic  writers  and  satirists,  in  a  certain  melancholy  in- 
herited by  the  Englishman  from  his  fathers;  finally,  in 
graphic  directness  and  simplicity  of  expression.  All  in  all, 
the  old  Teutonic  spirit  was  still  discernible.  But  this  spirit 
had  been  severely  chastened  in  the  school  of  life,  and  if  the 
English  nation  went  forth  steeled  from  the  struggle  with  the 
forces  of  history  and  nature,  if  it  began  to  conquer  wealth, 
power,  freedom,  it  nevertheless  still  bore,  in  consequence  of 
that  struggle,  traces  of  mental  rudeness  which  the  improve- 
ments in  the  outward  things  of  life  made  all  the  more  con- 
spicuous. The  English  mind  had  evidently  forgotten  and 
lost  much,  and  it  had  not  adequately  assimilated  the  new 
matter  which  it  had  been  obliged  to  take  up.  In  a  word,  it 
was  the  mind  of  a  people,  separated  from  its  own  past  by  a 
long  period  of  foreign  domination. 

It  is  strange  that  the  new  impetus  of  poetry  accompanying 
the  growth  of  national  consciousness  under  the  third  Ed- 
ward should  at  first  move  in  a  direction  leading  back  to  that 
past,  and  should  seem  to  ignore  all  the  development  of  the 
preceding  period.  We  mean  the  revival  of  alliterative  poet- 
ry. The  phenomenon  may  be  explained  when  we  search- 
ingly  examine  its  scope  and  antecedents. 

In  the  reigns  of  the  third  Henry  and  the  first  two  Ed- 
wards, rhyme  had  won  universal  and  undisputed  sway  in 
English  poetry,  and  with  it  the  new  forms  of  verse  and 
strophe.  Yet  it  had  not  been  able  entirely  to  crowd  out  the 
Old  English  measure.  Not  only  does  alHteration,  clinging 
to  certain  formulas  and  phrases,  occur  in  numberless  poems ; 
not  only  do  many  poets  use  it  consciously,  and  some  with 
the  most  consistent  regularity,  but  there  is  also  no  lack  o 
strophic  forms,  whose  elements,  loosed  from  their  connection 
and  relieved  of  the  end-rhyme,  would  appear  as  the  legiti- 
mate offspring  of  the  Old  English  long  line.  We  have  no- 
ticed such  forms  chiefly  in  the  lyrics  of  the  western  counties ; 
we  then  saw  how  they  spread  thence  to  Northumbria,  and 
were  employed  by  Laurence  Minot.  It  would  not,  then, 
perhaps,  be  too  bold  to  assume  that  purely  alliterative,  rhyme- 
less  poetry  had  never  entirely  disappeared  during  this  period. 
No  such  verse,  from  that  time,  has  as  yet  come  to  light,  and 
may  never  do  so;  yet  it  remains  possible,  nay,  probable, 
that,  in  some  of  the  more  isolated  monasteries  of  the  Welsh 


330        PRELUDE  TO  REFORMATION  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

Marches,  lives  of  saints  were  occasionally  composed,  under 
the  Edwards,  in  the  style  of  the  Marherete  and  yuUana^ 
which  date  from  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century. 

If  this  was  the  case,  the  moment  must  have  come  when  a 
secular  poet  of  that  region  became  conscious  of  the  advan- 
tages of  the  alliterative  long  line,  as  an  epic  form,  over  the 
prevailing  metres  of  the  romance-poetry,  the  short  couplet  or 
the  ryme  couee,  and  saw  how  much  better  it  was  adapted  to 
epic  breadth  and  fulness  than  the  latter,  how  much  more 
easily  than  the  former  it  could  lend  dignity  and  brilliance  to 
diction.  The  old  long  line  must  also  have  commended  itself 
to  this  poet  of  the  west  by  the  ease  with  which  it  could  be 
handled.  Formulas  of  alliteration  v/ere  plentiful  in  the 
poetry  of  his  home,  in  the  folk-song  as  well  as  in  the  erotic 
lyrics  of  the  clerks;  nor  did  this  poetry  lack  models  for 
rhythmical  structure.  In  the  imitation  of  these  hypothetical 
saint-lives,  it  was  only  necessary  to  set  aside  the  rhyme  and 
to  carry  out  the  alliteration  with  somewhat  greater  strict- 
ness. 

The  current  forms  of  romance-poetry  had  proved  incapa- 
ble of  bringing  forth  in  England  an  art-style  in  the  higher 
sense.  The  ceaseless  wavering  between  different  principles 
of  accentuation,  and,  still  more,  the  want  of  a  fixed,  univers- 
ally recognised  norm  for  the  relation  between  rhythm  and 
number,  had  prevented  that  feeling  of  stability  so  essential 
to  the  formation  of  the  epic  style.  It  is  not  strange,  then, 
that  a  newer  form  was  tried,  which,  though  old,  was  one 
whose  national  character  was  yet  felt.  It  is  no  wonder  that 
this  attempt  was  made  at  a  time  when  the  native  life,  as  a 
whole,  was  beginning  powerfully  to  react  against  the  foreign. 

This  reaction,  it  is  true,  was  limited  by  set  bounds.  What 
was  really  dead  could  not  be  revived ;  what  had  gone  into 
the  blood  and  marrow  of  the  nation  could  not  be  removed. 
It  was  possible,  however,  to  bring  to  light  forces,  hidden  but 
living,  to  prolong  by  assiduous  care  the  life  of  such  as  were 
fast  ebbing,  and  to  turn  the  uncertain  into  a  fixed  course. 

The  sequel  will  show  how  this  was  brought  about  in 
poetry. 

After  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  century  there  arose  a 
series  of  romances,  beginning  in  the  territory  of  the  Welsh 
Marches,  that  borrowed  the  verse  of  the  Old  English  epos, 


NEW  ALLITERATIVE  POETRY.  33  t 

and  a  certain  reflection  of  its  stately  splendour.  This  new 
alliterative  poetry  shows  the  ancient  fondness  for  the  fre- 
quent, nay,  extravagant,  use  of  synonymous  expressions  and 
the  employment  of  standing  epic  epithets  and  formulas,  while 
the  diction  often  surprises  by  its  sensuous  freshness  and  ful- 
ness. The  language  itself  is  archaic;  many  ancient  words 
reappear  that  had  left  the  other  dialects  and  the  poetry  of 
the  newer  forms  generally.  What  a  wealth  of  Teutonic  vo- 
cables this  language  reveals,  when  certain  conceptions  are  to 
be  expressed,  as  those  of  man  or  hero !  The  antique  tone 
of  many  verses  vividly  reminds  us  of  the  time  when  the  Eng- 
lish language  had  taken  up  no  Romanic  element,  as  when 
we  read  in  the  description  of  a  battle  : 

Schon  schene  uppon  schaft  schalkene  blode.l 
Shone  sheeny  the  warriors'  blood  on  the  shaft. 

The  illusion,  however,  is  brief  For  the  language  of  this 
western  alliterative  poetry  contains,  as  a  whole,  many  Ro- 
manic words,  though  they  are  made  to  conform  almost  ex- 
actly to  the  Germanic  principle  of  accentuation,  while  in  the 
current  verse-forms  of  that  time,  and  a  couple  of  centuries 
later,  the  accent  of  such  words  was  unstable.  As  regards 
the  inflections,  or  end-syllables,  the  western  dialect  had  not 
escaped  the  inroads  of  time,  and  the  synthetic  poverty  of  the 
language  is  not  always  compatible  with  the  frequent  archa- 
isms in  the  arrangement  of  words. 

If  the  language  itself  thus  betokens  the  union  of  elements 
not  quite  harmonious,  the  contrast  between  form  and  contents 
is  still  more  marked.  For  the  ideal  world  into  which  we  are 
transported  by  this  noble  alliterative  poetry  is  by  no  means 
an  Old  Teutonic  or  Old  English  one.  Manners  and  senti- 
ments, costume  and  mounting,  essentially  belong  to  culti- 
vated, mediaeval  society,  powerfully  influenced  by  France. 
The  same  is  true  of  the  subject-matter.  It  is  the  atmosphere 
of  the  later  Middle  Ages  that  we  breathe  in  these  romances; 
many  of  them  are  patterned  directly  from  French  models. 

Verse  and  diction,  however,  stamp  the  imitations  with 
originality.  The  national  vesture  of  the  foreign  material 
does  not  suggest  that  the  material  is  borrowed.  Even  the 
poet  cannot  escape  the  influence  of  form;  the  altered  style 

I  Joseph  0/ Afimathie,  v.  510. 


332        PRELUDE  TO  REFORMATION  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

brings  with  it  a  new  spirit.  Something  old-fashioned  and 
serious,  a  touch  of  austerity  or  of  piety,  pervade  the  poems, 
and  sometimes  this  tone  does  not  fully  accord  with  the 
themes  adopted.  This  is  not  all :  the  peculiar  form  of  pre- 
sentation also  brings  with  it  a  certain  independence  in  the 
adaptation  of  the  original.  It  appears  mostly  in  details; 
but  the  charm  of  a  poem  depends  very  largely  upon  details. 

The  archaic  cast  of  the  form,  combined  with  the  thor- 
oughly modern  subject-matter  (that  is,  modern  in  the  four- 
teenth century),  at  first  has  an  odd  and  startling  effect.  But 
this  impression  is  soon  overcome;  one  grows  accustomed 
to  the  novel  style,  and  yields  voluntarily  to  its  mysterious 
spell,  a  spell  that  is,  nevertheless,  broken  in  protracted  works, 
or  in  mediocre  poets,  by  monotony. 

Two  poems,  of  which  fragments  alone  have  reached  us, 
are  the  most  ancient  monuments  of  this  new  alliterative  po- 
etry. 

These  are  :  the  fragment  of  a  romance  on  the  Holy  Graal, 
or  'yoseph  of  Arimathie^  and  two  remnants  of  an  Alexa7ider 
romance. 

The  former  poem  is  founded  upon  a  diffuse  work  in  French 
prose,  which  is  well  condensed  by  the  English  poet,  in  his 
pithy,  if  not  faultless  verse.  The  solemn  and  somewhat 
oracular  diction  admirably  suits  this  material,  with  its  vague- 
ness and  its  touch  of  mysticism.  But  the  real  power  of  the 
poet  appears  chiefly  in  the  representation  of  war  and  battle. 

King  Evalac  of  Sarras  has  gathered  an  army,  and  is  ad- 
vancing against  King  Tholomer  of  Bab)'lon,  who  has  made 
an  incursion  into  his  territory,  and  has  already  won  several 
successes.  Urged  by  Evalac's  wife,  her  brother  Seraph 
joins  him  with  five  hundred  men.  Then  comes  the  attack 
on  the  enemy : 

Now  they  hie  to  the  plain  where  the  others  halt ; 
Hei  arrays  his  rich  men,  and  better  he  rights  them, 
That  they  rue  no  attack,  ill-wrought  through  his  counsel. 
Then  says  to  them  Seraph:   "  Hold  still  and  be  steadfast, 
And  bethink  ye,  good  men,  of  the  grief  to  your  children, 
What  thereof  will  befall,  if  we  be  confounded. 
On  our  own  land,  doughty,  it  were  better  to  die, 
Than  with  shame  to  shun  battle  and  shrink  us  aback." 
They  gained  on  them  then  to  the  length  of  a  glaive, 

'  That  is,  Seraph. 


ROMANCE  Oi-  iHE  HOLY  GRAAL.  ^$^ 

And  when  Seraph  them  saw,  the  foe  might  soon  see 

His  pole-axe  fall  proudly,  with  prowess  downthrust. 

Where  the  press  was  thickest,  he  proved  his  weapon; 

He  brake  apart  brains  and  bruised  the  men. 

Bore  death  in  his  hand  and  dealt  it  about  him. 

He  had  on  high  a  great-helved  hatchet ; 

With  grasp  hard  he  held  it  in  his  two  hands  ; 

He  struck  and  crushed  them,  and  proved  his  strength, 

That  few  might  fare  from  him  and  go  to  flight. 

There  were  steeds  to  destroy  and  struggles  to  strive  in, 

Men  mightful  to  meet,  and  shields  through  to  mall. 

They  burst  hard  hauberks  and  breasts  they  thrilled; 

Shone  the  sheen  of  the  warriors'  blood  on  the  shaft. 

They  that  halted  on  horse,  they  hewed  down  helmets ; 

They  that  held  them  on  foot,  they  hacked  through  shoulders. 

Lay  many  swooning  for  slashing  of  svt'ords. 

And,  doomed,  in  a  short  while  died  the  death. 

There  were  heads  unhoused  and  helms  uplifted  ; 

Hard  shields  were  cloven  and  shattered  in  quarters. 

They  slew  man  and  horse,  at  a  stroke  down  hurled,  l 

It  cannot  be  said  that  the  single  moments  forming  this 
account  combine  in  the  mind  so  as  to  give  a  clear  picture 
of  the  whole.  The  general  impression  is  nevertheless  height- 
ened and  carried  to  the  climax  by  the  many  forcibly  drawn 
single  scenes,  that  are  oftentimes  repeated.  Happily,  it  is 
the  tumult  and  whirl  of  battle  that  is  here  to  be  treated  ;  and 
the  sensation  of  stormy,  eddying  commotion  to  be  called  up 
by  the  picture  is  excited  by  the  very  manner  of  presentation. 
Yet  we  feel  how  inadequate  these  devices  of  style  must  prove 
to  other  tasks.  Our  poet  has  the  tact  not  to  attempt  poi 
trait  or  landscape  painting,  or  perhaps  it  was  merely  good 
luck  that  denied  him  the  opportunity.  Detailed  descriptions 
of  this  kind  are  entirely  wanting  in  the  fragment. 

It  contains,  it  is  true,  only  seven  hundred  and  nine  verses; 
the  beginning,  probably  numbering  upward  of  a  hundred 
verses,  is  lost. 

The  first  of  the  two  fragments  of  the  Alexander  romance 
tells  the  things  that  happened  before  the  hero's  birth,  and 
the  history  of  his  boyhood,  and  breaks  off  in  the  midst  of  the 
siege  of  Byzantium  by  PhiHp,  It  is  based  upon  various 
originals,  some  of  them  historical  and  some  clearly  romantic. 
The  first  class  is  represented  by  the  compilation  of  Radulph 
of  St.  Albans  (died  1151)  and  by  the  Universal  History  of 
Orosius;  the  second,  by  the  Historia  Alexandri  de  proeliis  of 

1  yoseph  o/Arimathie,  ed.  Skeat.  v.  489,  et  seq. 


334        PRELUDE  TO  REFORMATION  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

the  Arch-Presbyter  Leo.  The  style  agrees  with  this  deriva- 
tion of  the  material,  sometimes  merely  summarising  in  the 
manner  of  a  chronicle,  sometimes  falling  into  the  prolixity 
of  the  romance.  The  most  brilliant  passages  of  the  frag- 
ment are  in  the  episode  of  Nectanabus  and  Olympias.  The 
poet  portrays  from  head  to  foot  the  beauty  of  the  Macedon- 
ian queen,  but  with  no  better  success  than  has  been  won  by 
a  thousand  other  poets  who  have  foolishly  attempted  to  rival 
painting.  Very  graphic,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  death  of  Nectanabus  at  the  hand  of  Alexander. 
The  second  fragment,  which  language,  style,  and  verse  refer 
to  the  same  pen,  treats  of  Alexander's  expedition  into  the 
land  of  the  Oxydraches,  which  is  followed  by  his  correspond- 
ence with  Dindimus,  king  of  the  Brachmanes,  of  whose 
identity  with  the  Oxydraches  the  author  does  not  seem  to 
have  been  aware.  The  diction  of  these  fragments  is  forcible 
and  expressive ;  the  poet  constructs  his  verse  with  a  stricter 
observance  of  the  ancient  rules  of  alliteration  than  most  of 
those  who  essayed  the  same  form  at  that  time.  What  we 
have  of  his  work  causes  us  to  regret  the  loss  of  so  much  of 
it. 

The  example  given  by  the  author  of  the  Alexa?ider  was 
not  without  result.  Another  poet,  named  WiUiam,  was 
plainly  influenced  by  him,  at  least  as  regards  m.etre  and  style. 
In  1355  he  translated  the  French  romance  of  Guillaume  de 
Palerne  into  English  verse,  at  the  commission  of  the  Earl 
of  Hereford,  Humphrey  de  Bohun.  The  original  was  a 
roman  d'aveniures  in  short  couplets,  written  towards  the  end 
of  the  twelfth  century  for  the  Countess  Yolande,^  daughter 
of  Baldwin  IV.  of  Flanders,  and  it  purported  to  be  a  trans- 
lation from  the  Latin.  The  fable  may  have  originated  among 
the  Normans  in  Sicily,  or  southern  Italy,  and  it  contained 
many  a  topic  tempting  to  the  taste  of  the  Middle  Ages.  A 
Spanish  prince  who  is  transformed  into  a  were-wolf  by  the 
sorcery  of  his  wicked  stepmother ;  a  Sicilian  prince  (William, 
the  hero  of  the  story),  whose  Hfe  is  sought  by  his  uncle,  and 
whom  the  good  were-wolf  carries  away  from  his  unsuspect- 
ing parents,  and  brings  to  the  vicinity  of  Rome;  a  Roman 
emperor,  who  discovers  the  youth  that  has  been  found  and 
brought  up  by  a  cowherd,  brings  him  to  his  court,  and  assigns 

1  At  first  Countess  of  Solssons,  after  1177,  of  St  Paul. 


William  of  pälerM.  335 

him  to  his  daughter  Melior  as  a  page ;  a  tender  love-intrigue 
between  William  and  Melior,  that  in  many  details  recalls  the 
sentimentality  of  Greek  romances ;  add  to  this  knightly 
combats,  pursuit,  and  the  "  hair-breadth  scapes  "  of  the  lov- 
ers fleeing  from  Rome,  first  enveloped  in  bear-skins  and  then 
in  deer-skins,  and  finally  the  happy  meeting  of  all  concerned 
at  Palermo,  disenchantment,  recognition,  reconciHation,  and 
various  weddings ; — all  this,  with  some  lapses  into  monotony, 
but  in  the  main,  attractively  and  skilfully,  had  been  told  by 
the  French  poet. 

William,  the  English  imitator,  impresses  one  as  a  modest, 
naively  good  humoured,  and  by  no  means  untalented  person- 
age. While  he  in  general  closely  conforms  to  the  original, 
he  takes  liberties  with  details,  and  hesitates  neither  to  abridge 
nor  to  add  much  new  matter.  Although  he  obliterates  a  few 
of  the  beauties  of  his  model,  all  in  all,  he  excels  the  French 
poet.  Happy  in  the  delineation  of  combat  and  of  love,  his 
main  strength  lies  in  the  painting  of  tender  or  unaffectedly 
touching  scenes,  and  many  a  trait  thus  added  bears  witness 
to  a  refined  sense  and  keen  observation.  He  shows  great 
skill  in  managing  the  alliterative  verse,  which  the  precedent 
of  the  Alexander  poet  probably  led  him  to  adopt ;  and  his 
apology  to  the  reader  for  the  choice  of  this  metre  is  quite 
unnecessary;  he  tells  us  that  he  lacked  confidence  to  write 
in  short  couplets : 

In  this  manner  William  has  finished  his  work,  just  as  it  was  required 
by  the  French,  and  as  far  as  his  wit  reached,  that  was  indeed  weak. 
But  if  everybody  is  not  pleased  with  the  metre,  let  not  the  poet  have 
reproach ;  he  would  willingly  have  done  better  if  his  wit  had  in  any 
way  been  sufficient.' 

We  are  especially  attracted  in  William  of  Palerne  by  the 
author's  mind,  which  is  reflected  in  the  whole  work,  and  is 
plainly  shown  in  single  passages.  Rather  naive  in  his  judg- 
ment of  the  relations  between  William  and  Melior,  that, 
from  a  strictly  moral  standing-point  are  somewhat  ques- 
tionable, the  poet  is,  at  the  same  time,  a  man  of  piety  and 
goodness  of  heart,  capable  of  appreciating  the  nobler  impulses 
of  human  nature,  and  fond  of  presenting  them ;  an  admirer 
of  virtue  and  strength  in  all  relations  of  life,  and  an  advocate 
of  the  poor  and  the  weak. 

I  Willian  of  Palerine,  v.  5521,  et.  seq. 


336        PRELUDE  TO  REFORMATION  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

II. 

At  first,  the  verse  combining  alliteration  and  rhyme  seemu  to 
have  been  more  fully  developed  and  adapted  to  a  wider  range 
of  subjects  in  the  northwestern  counties,  and  chiefly  in  Lan- 
cashire. It  occurs  earliest  in  romances  having  to  do  with 
Gawayne;  this  was  a  favourite  theme  of  poetry  at  the  north, 
as  was  the  Arthurian  saga  in  general.  Cumberland,  West- 
moreland, the  districts  between  the  Tyne  and  Tweed,  and  all 
the  south  of  the  Scotland  of  to-day,  are  rich  in  names  of 
places  that  point  to  a  localising  and  a  more  or  less  inde- 
pendent growth  of  the  Arthurian  traditions  in  that  region. 
This  phenomenon  is  easily  accounted  for  by  the  long  dura- 
tion of  British  rule  in  Strath-Clyde,  and  the  intercourse  kept 
up  by  these  Britons  with  their  own  race,  on  the  one  side,  in 
Wales,  and  with  the  Gaels  of  Caledonia,  on  the  other. 

The  short  and  attractive  poem.  The  Anturs  of  Aj'ther  at 
the  Tarnewathelan  (the  Adventures  of  Arthur  at  Tarn  Wad- 
ling)  is  a  clear  case  of  the  separate  growth  of  known  saga- 
material.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  it  was  written  in 
Lancashire,  perhaps  about,  or  some  time  before  the  middle 
of  the  fourteenth  century.^  A  most  simple  plot,  giving  oppor- 
tunity for  strong  typical  scenes,  is  worked  out  in  somewhat 
obscure,  but  picturesque  language.  The  ethical  purpose  of 
the  author  lies  in  the  exhortation  to  moderation  and  discre- 
tion ;  but  one  suspects  a  more  directly  practical  purpose,  and 
is  tempted  to  ask  whom  the  poet  meant  to  represent  by 
Gawayne,  the  central  subject  of  the  whole.  Barring  some 
amplihcation,  the  style  recalls  that  of  the  ballad.  The  met- 
rical form  is  a  strophe  in  which  nine  alliterative,  but  rhymed 
long  lines  are  followed  by  four  short  lines,  the  rhyme-sequence 
being  ababababcdddc.  Like  Laurence  Minot,  the 
author  is  fond  of  connecting  the  close  of  one  strophe  with  the 
beginning  of  the  next  by  words  of  identical  or  similar  sound. 

Another  writer,  also  nameless,  appears  in  the  sixties  or 
seventies  of  the  century,  not  very  long  after  the  poet  of 
Arthur's  adventures.  This  writer  has  stamped  himself  upon 
several  works,  so  that  we  are  able  to  portray  him  with  some 
exactness.  This  is  worth  while  because  his  was  a  personality 
of  moment. 

1  But  in  no  case  long  before  1350,  and  still  less  before  1300,  as  has  been  claimed. 


POET  OF  THE  SIR  GAWAYNE.  337 

It  is  hard  to  determine  his  rank  in  life.  After  being  edu- 
cated at  the  cloister-school,  he  probably  entered  the  house 
of  some  nobleman,  where  he  was  occupied  as  scribe  or  reader, 
or  perhaps  as  director  of  the  minstrels.  Although  versed  in 
Latin  and  French,  and  tolerably  well-read  both  in  the  Bible 
and  profane  literature,  he  was  also  at  home  in  the  mysteries 
of  the  hunt  and  in  other  knightly  exercises.  He  knew  well 
how  a  knight  w^as  armed,  and  what  occurred  in  courtly  circles 
at  festivals,  at  the  reception  of  strangers,  et  cetera;  for  he  had 
often  seen  them.  He  evidently  took  pleasure  in  this  merry, 
brilliant  life. 

But  he  was  especially  attracted  by  nature.  His  musing 
disposition  found  charm  in  watching  her  in  the  different 
phases  of  the  year,  and  he  seems  acquainted  by  personal 
observation  v/ith  a  great  part  of  western  England,  traversed 
perhaps  in  company  with  his  lord,  or  at  his  behest.  Nor 
did  he  know  the  ocean  from  a  merely  fleeting  view ;  he  de- 
scribes it  in  storm  and  calm  as  finely  as  he  does  the  thickly- 
leaved  forest  or  the  rugged  mountain  landscape. 

As  an  epic  poet,  for  such  he  was,  he  chose  his  materials 
and  shaped  them  with  the  strictest  regard  to  the  moral  ideas 
he  wished  to  present.  These  ideas  did  not  merely  attract 
him  unconsciously  to  the  materials,  and  determine  the  man- 
ner of  forming  them;  they  were  the  real  incentives  that 
moved  him  to  wTite.  If  he  did  not  become  a  didactic  poet 
or  allegorist,  like  a  hundred  of  his  contemporaries,  it  is  because 
his  intuition  saw  a  deep  symbolism  in  life  and  nature. 

Only  one  secular  poem  from  his, pen  is  preserved.  Sir 
Gawayjie  and  the  Green  Knight.  He  largely  borrowed  his 
subject-matter  from  the  Perceval  (or  Conte  del  Graal)  of 
Crestien  de  Troyes,  but  in  such  a  way  that  what  is  merely 
episodical  in  the  source  becomes  the  centre  of  his  work,  is 
put  into  new  relations,  and  entirely  remoulded.  Few  medi- 
aeval romance-poets  can  so  justly  lay  claim  to  originality  as 
he.i 

The  plot  is  extremely  simple.  King  Arthur,  surrounded 
by  the  knights  of  the  Round  Table,  solemnises  the  Yule 
festival  at  Camelot,  in  Somersetshire.  The  festal  jubilee  lasts 
fifteen  days.     New  Year's  day  is  kept  in  chapel  and  hall, 

1  This  is  not  incompatible  with  the  fact  that  his  poem  has  many  points  in  common 
with  other  Arthurian  romances. 

W 


53^        PRELUDE  to  REFOkMATtON  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

gifts  are  asked  and  bestowed,  merry  jests  enliven  the  talk  of 
gain  and  loss.     The   guests  seat  themselves  at  the  table, 
each  in  his  place.     Upon  the  dais  sit  the  king  and  Guenever, 
most  beautiful  of  women,  in  splendid  attire;    at  one  side 
is  Gawayne,  at  the  other  Agravayn  ( Agrauay?i  a  la  dure 
mayn);  Bishop  Bawdewyn  has  the  place  of  honour,  and  be- 
side him  sits  Ywayn.     The  king  is  not  yet  disposed  to  eat. 
Hot  of  blood  and  eager  for  action  as  he  is,  he  is  wont,  on 
such  a  day,  to  decline  food  until  he  either  hears  an  adventure 
related,  or  experiences  one.     This  time  he  need  not  wait 
long.     Hardly  has  the  first  course  been   served   amid  the 
sound  of  trumpets,  when  a  knight,  in  green  garments  and  of 
gigantic  figure,  with  flowing  hair  and  long,  bushy  beard,  rides, 
mounted  on  a  green  horse,  into  the  hall.     He  wears  neither 
helmet  nor  coat-of-mail,  he  carries  neither  spear  nor  shield. 
In  one  hand  he  holds  a  holly-bough,  in  the  other  a  huge 
axe  with  a  sharp  edge.     The  poet  dwells  rather  long  on  the 
description  of  this  knight,  his  figure  and  his  dress.     But  if 
he  here  falls  into  a  common  error  of  romantic  poets,  he  proves 
in  the  sequel  that  he  understands  the  kind  of  word-paint- 
ing alone   suitable  to  poetry,  that  which   presents    objects 
in    progressive  movement.     Without  salutation  the  knight 
rides  to  the  high  dais,  and  inquires  for  the  governor  of  the 
company.     Great  astonishment   seizes    all   present;  all  sit 
silent   and    motionless,  either   from    fear  or  from  courtesy. 
The   king  speaks,  and   bids  the   strange  knight  welcome. 
But  he  has  not  come  to  taiTy,  even  if  his  purpose  is  peace- 
ful.    He  seeks  the  most  valiant  hero  to  test  his  stanchness 
by  a  jest.     Who  has  the  courage  may  give  him  a  stroke 
with    his   battle-axe,  he  will   peacefully   endure  it,  and   in 
twelve  months  and  a  day,  he  will  take  his  turn.     The  hall, 
at  these  words,  becomes  yet  stiller  than  before.     The  knight 
rises  on  his  horse  in  his  saddle,  fiercely  rolls  his  red  eyes, 
wrinkles  his  bristly  brows,  and  waves  his  beard  in  expectation 
of  him  who  shall  arise.     No  one  responds.      Thereupon  the 
hero  speaks  :  "  What !     Is  this  Arthur's  house  of  which  the 
boast  runs  tlirough  so  many  kingdoms  ?     Where  are  now 
your  pride  of  victory,  your  fierceness,  your  anger,  and  your 
boasting  words?     Now  is  the  revel  and  the  renown  of  the 
Round  Table  overcome  by  one  man's  speech;  for  all  trem- 
ble with  dread  before  the  fight  has  begun."     And  he  laughs 


SIR  GAWAYNE  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHt.  339 

SO  loud  that  the  blood  rushes  to  the  king's  face ;  he  leaps 
up  angrily  and  advances  toward  the  knight :  "  Thine  asking 
is  foolish,  and  as  thou  seekest  foolishness,  thou  shalt  find  it. 
I  know  no  man  that  fears  thy  great  words.  In  God's  name 
give  me  thine  axe,  and  I  will  fulfil  thy  wish."  He  seizes 
the  axe,  and  the  Green  Knight  alights  from  his  horse,  and 
calmly  prepares  to  receive»the  blow. 

Then  Gawayne  bends  low  before  the  king,  and  respect- 
fully begs  permission  to  leave  the  table  and  accept  the 
knight's  challenge:  "  For  methinks  it  not  seemly  for  thee  to 
take  it  upon  thyself,  while  many  so  bold  sit  about  thee  upon 
the  bench.  I  am  the  weakest  of  all,  and  of  wit  the  feeblest ; 
in  my  life  the  least  would  be  lost.  I  am  noble  only  as  thy 
nephew,  because  thy  blood  flows  in  my  veins.  And  because 
this  work  is  too  strange  for  thee,  and  I  have  first  begged 
thee  for  it,  so  trust  it  to  me."  Arthur  grants  his  prayer,  and 
commands  him  to  rise  from  the  bench.  Kneeling,  the  hero 
receives  the  weapon  from  the  king's  hand,  with  best  wishes 
for  success,  and  advances  upon  the  Green  Knight.  The 
latter  first  demands  the  name  of  his  opponent.  Gawayne 
tells  his  name  and  promises  that  in  a  year  and  a  day  he  will 
seek  the  Green  Knight  to  receive  the  answering  blow, 
wherever  in  the  world  he  may  be.  Then  the  strange  knight 
bares  his  neck ;  Gawayne  lifts  the  axe  and  cuts  off  his  head 
with  a  sturdy  stroke.  The  head  rolls  through  the  hall; 
many  spurn  it  with  the  foot,  and  the  blood  leaps  up  in  thick 
streams  from  the  trunk.  But  the  Green  Knight  does  not 
falter;  he  seizes  his  head  with  his  hand,  and  seats  himself 
in  the  saddle  again.  Then  the  head  Hfts  its  eyelids,  opens 
its  mouth,  and  speaks  :  "  Look  to  it,  Gawayne,  that,  accord- 
ing to  thy  promise,  thou  equip  thyself  and  loyally  seek  me 
until  thou  hast  found  me.  Take  thou  the  way  to  the  Green 
Chapel.  I  charge  thee  to  fetch  such  a  stroke  as  thou  gavest. 
Thou  dost  deserve  a  prompt  requital  on  New  Year's  morn. 
I  am  known  to  many  as  the  Knight  of  the  Green  Chapel ; 
if  thou  seekest  me  thou  wilt  never  fail.  Therefore  come,  or 
be  called  recreant."  With  a  violent  jerk  he  turns  the  reins 
and,  his  head  in  his  hand,  chases  out  of  the  hall-door,  so 
that  the  fire  springs  on  the  flint  under  the  hoofs  of  his  horse. 
Arthur  and  Gawayne  look  laughingly  after  him ;  the  king 
soothes  the  queen  and  causes  the  axe  to  be  hung  over  the 


3+0        PRELUDE  TO  REFORMATION  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

table  as  a  memento.  The  king  now  has  an  appetite;  they 
seat  themselves  at  table,  Gawayne  is  served  a  double  portion 
of  all  dainties,  and  riot  and  revel,  with  the  play  of  minstrels, 
prevail  until  the  day  ends.  This  closes  the  first  part  of  the 
poem. 

The  opening  of  the  second  canto  may  be  rendered  thus  : 

This  adventure  amazing  made  Arthur's  first  marvel, 
When  in  youth  he  eagerly  yearned  to  hear. 
If  their  words  were  wanting  when  they  went  to  feast, 
Now  their  hearts  they  full  hold  of  hard  hero-work. 
Gawayne  gladly  began  that  game  in  the  hall. 
End  it  heavy  and  earnest,  no  wonder  it  is. 
For  though  men  at  the  meal  make  merry  and  drink, 
A  year  quickly  runs,  never  rests  nor  returns, 
With  the  close  the  beginning  keeps  seldom  accord. 
Thus  this  Yule-tide  passed  over,  and  after,  the  year. 
In  its  several  seasons  swiftly  swept  by. 
After  Christmas-joy  cometh  the  Lenten-time  crabbed. 
When  flesh  yields  to  fish  and  more  simple  food. 
But  the  weather  of  the  world  with  winter  doth  struggle ; 
The  cold  is  less  keen,  and  clouds  uplift. 
Spring  rain  down-sheddeth  in  warm,  sweet  showers. 
On  the  fair  valley  falls ;  and  flowers  there  show. 
And  the  garment  is  green  of  the  grounds  and  the  groves. 
Birds  make  ready  to  build  and  burning  songs  trill. 
For  soft  summer's  solace  that  speedeth  now  soon 
In  delight ; 

And  blossoms  swell  to  blow, 

In  flushing  rows  and  bright; 

And  noble  notes  eno\'C, 

Ring  from  the  wooded  height. 
After  the  season  of  summer  with  soft-blowing  winds, 
WTien  zephyr  sighs  sweetly  on  seeds  and  herbs. 
Most  winsome  is  the  wort  that  then  groweth  wild. 
When  the  damp  drops  drip  from  the  dewy  leaves, 
A  blissful  blush  to  bide  of  the  bright-beaming  sun. 
But  then  the  harvest  hastens  to  hurry  it  on. 
Warns  it  before  the  winter  to  wax  aripe. 
With  drought  he  drives  the  dust  to  drift  about. 
Before  the  face  of  the  fold  to  fly  full  high. 
The  wroth  wind  of  the  welkin  wrestles  with  the  sun , 
The  leaves  launch  from  the  limbs  and  lie  alow. 
And  fadeth  gray  the  grass  that  erst  was  green ; 
Rotteth  and  ripeneth  all  that  once  uprose  so  fresh. 
Thus  the  young  year  grows  old  in  many  yesterdays. 
And  winter  windeth  round  again,  and  Time  no  leave 
Will  ask. 
Until  the  Michaelmas  moon 
Sure  winter  doth  unmask. 
Then  thinks  Gawayne  full  soon 
Of  his  journey's  anxious  task. 


SIR  GAWAYNE  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT.  34 1 

He  nevertheless  celebrates  All-Hallow's  day  at  the  court 
of  Arthur,  who  prepares  a  great  banquet  in  his  honour. 
All  try  to  be  cheerful,  though  they  are  filled  with  anxiety 
for  the  hero.  After  the  meal  Gawayne  begs  his  uncle  for 
leave  of  absence ;  he  wishes  to  begin  his  journey  the  next 
morning.  The  morning  dawns.  Gawayne  dresses  himself, 
and  is  armed  with  much  ceremony.  He  hears  mass  in  his 
gold-gleaming  armour,  and  then  takes  leave  of  Arthur  and 
his  court.  His  steed,  Gringolet,  whose  harness  also  gleams 
like  the  sun,  is  led  up.  The  hero  puts  on  the  richly-decked 
helmet,  and  receives  the  shield  that  bears  a  golden  "  pent- 
angle  "  on  a  red  field,  and  on  the  other  half,  an  image  of  the 
Holy  Virgin.  The  poet  exhaustively  discusses  the  meaning 
of  these  symbols;  the  hero  has  been  faultless  in  his  five 
senses,  his  five  fingers  have  never  failed  him,  he  puts  his 
trust  in  the  five  wounds  of  Christ,  he  draws  his  strength  from 
the  five  joys  of  the  Virgin  mother,  he  practices  five  virtues 
unceasingly :  frankness,  fidelity,  purity,  courtesy,  and  pity. 
Gawayne  seizes  his  lance,  says  a  last  farewell,  he  thinks  for- 
ever, and  sets  spurs  to  his  horse.  Those  left  behind  with 
tears  lament  the  hero  dashing  hence. 

Gawayne  rides  toward  the  north,  through  desolate  stretches, 
with  no  other  companion  than  his  horse.  He  reaches  North 
Wales  and  follows  the  coast;  at  Holyhead  he  passes  over 
the  fords  until  he  comes  to  the  wilderness  of  Wirral.  He 
everywhere  inquires  for  the  Green  Knight,  but  can  gain  no 
tidings  of  him.  His  journey  is  full  of  difficulty  and  danger, 
of  privation  and  anxiety.  He  is  opposed  by  rocks  and 
rivers ;  serpents,  wolves,  bulls,  bears,  and  wild  boars  attack 
him,  also  satyrs  and  giants.  Worse  than  everything  else  is 
the  cold  winter,  with  ice  and  snow  and  sleet,  that  often 
almost  slay  him  when  he  has  lain  down  in  his  armour  to 
sleep  at  the  foot  of  naked  rocks.  On  Cliristmas  eve  he 
finds  himself  in  a  dense,  savage  mountain  forest.  He  be- 
seeches Christ  and  the  Virgin  to  grant  him  means  of  hear- 
ing mass  and  matins  on  Christmas  morn.  He  has  hardly 
crossed  himself  thrice  in  prayer,  before  he  sees  upon  a  height 
a  beautiful,  well-fortified  castle,  surrounded  by  a  large  park. 
Gawayne  rides  toward  the  chief  gate,  but  a  double  moat 
winds  around  the  wall,  and  the  drawbridge  is  up.  Upon 
the  call  of  the  knight,  a  porter  appears  on  the  wall,  who 


342        PRELUDE  TO  REFORMATION  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

gives  friendly  answer  to  his  request  for  entrance,  disappears, 
and  soon  returns  with  other  servants.  The  drawbridge  falls, 
the  gate  is  opened  wide,  and  Gawayne  rides  into  the  castle, 
where  he  is  received  with  great  honours.  His  horse  is  led 
into  the  stable,  knights  and  squires  hasten  to  accompany  the 
guest  into  the  hall,  and  to  relieve  him  of  his  weapons. 
Then  the  lord  of  the  castle  appears,  a  huge  and  strong  hero, 
of  high  old  age,  with  broad  beard.  He  cordially  welcomes 
Gawayne,  and  leads  him  into  a  chamber,  where  he  assigns 
him  a  page  as  servant.  After  Gawayne  has  laid  off  his  ar- 
mour, and  put  on  a  gorgeous  robe  that  has  been  brought 
him,  he  returns  to  the  hall,  where  a  chair  has  been  placed 
for  him  near  the  chimney,  and  a  richly  embroidered  mantle 
is  thrown  over  him.  Now  a  table  is  made  ready,  and  the 
hero  is  most  bountifully  feasted.  He  makes  himself  known 
to  his  host  over  the  wine,  and  there  is  great  rejoicing  in  the 
hall  that  Gawayne,  "  the  father  of  nurture,"  is  there.  After 
the  dinner,  they  betake  themselves  to  the  chapel  for  evening 
worship,  which  is  also  attended  by  the  lady  of  the  castle. 
When  service  is  over,  the  lady  leaves  her  seat  and,  led  by  an 
ancient  dame,  approaches  the  knightly  guest.  She  herself 
is  young,  and  radiant  with  luxuriant  beauty.  By  permission 
of  the  lord,  Gawayne  goes  to  meet  them,  salutes  the  old 
dame  with  a  low  bow,  and  kisses  the  young  woman.  The 
evening  is  passed  in  cheerful  conversation  over  the  wine  until 
all  retire. 

The  Christmas  festival  is  celebrated  with  much  joy  at  the 
castle,  in  which  are  many  guests.  At  table  Gawayne  sits 
beside  his  beautiful  hostess,  and  they  entertain  each  other 
most  agreeably.  The  revels  last  for  three  days.  On  the 
evening  of  St.  John's  day,  many  guests  who  wish  to  depart 
early  the  next  morning  take  leave.  Gawayne  also  bids  his 
host  farewell ;  but  the  lord  of  the  castle  seeks  to  detain  him 
longer.  Informed  of  the  aim  of  the  knight's  journey,  he 
promises  to  take  care  that  he  shall  reach  it  in  time;  the 
Green  Chapel  being  only  two  miles  distant  from  the  castle, 
Gawayne  will  be  there  early  enough  if  he  departs  on  New 
Year's  morn.  Relieved  of  this  care,  Gawayne  gladly  yields 
to  the  friendly  urging  of  his  host.  The  lords  enjoy  them- 
selves in  merry  conversation  with  the  ladies  until  deep  into 
the  night.     The  lord  of  the  castle  proposes  to  his  guest  that 


SIR  GAWAYNE  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT.  343 

Gawayne  shall  keep  his  hostess  company  while  he  himself 
rides,  on  the  morrow,  to  the  hunt.  Upon  his  return  each 
shall  present  to  the  other  what  the  day  has  brought  him. 
Gawayne  cheerfully  enters  into  the  jest,  and  they  laughingly 
seal  the  bargain  with  a  draught.  At  last  all  part  and  go  to 
rest. 

The  third  canto  describes  the  carrying  out  of  this  com- 
pact, which  is  twice  renewed.  It  thus  presents  the  history 
of  three  days.  Each  day  the  knight  early  rides  to  the  hunt, 
which  the  poet  picturesquely  describes  with  true  national  de- 
light, and  in  minutest  detail.  The  game  sought  on  the  first 
day  of  the  hunt  is  deer  and  hinds ;  on  the  second  day,  wild 
boars ;  and  the  third  day  concerns  a  fox-hunt.  Each  time  the 
poet  interrupts  the  description  of  the  hunt  by  the  account  of 
Gawayne's  experiences.  Our  hero  is  every  morning  sur- 
prised in  bed  by  a  visit  from  his  beautiful  hostess.  The  lady 
has  clearly  conceived  a  deep  attachment  for  the  knight,  and 
brings  him  into  a  position  highly  dangerous  to  his  virtue. 
Gawayne,  however,  remains  steadfast  against  the  repeated 
temptation.  He  rejects  the  lady's  advances  respectfully  and 
courteously,  but  with  decision.  He  is  glad  to  take  her 
kisses,  however,  and  faithfully  gives  them  back  to  the  return- 
ing lord  of  the  castle,  in  exchange  for  the  abundant  booty 
of  the  hunt.  But  our  knight  is  not  in  all  respects  true  to  his 
word.  At  his  last  meeting  with  her,  after  he  has  declined  a 
gold  ring,  he  accepts  a  green  girdle  from  the  lady,  because 
she  says  that  this  girdle  will  preserve  the  wearer  from  death 
and  wounds ;  and  at  her  request,  he  promises  to  keep  this 
gift  secret  from  all  the  world.  Thus  the  hero,  who  has  vic- 
toriously withstood  sensual  temptation,  ignominiousiy  suc- 
cumbs to  the  fear  of  death. 

The  fourth  and  last  canto  brings  the  hero  to  the  goal  of 
his  journey.  New  Year's  morning  draws  on  with  snow  and 
storm.  Gawayne  lies  sleepless,  with  closed  eyes,  in  bed,  and 
hears  every  crowing  of  the  cock.  He  springs  from  bed  be- 
fore dayhght,  dresses  himself,  and  buckles  on  his  armour  by 
the  light  of  a  lamp,  not  forgetting  to  gird  himself  with  the 
lady's  gift.  Then  he  steps  into  the  castle-court,  and  thanks 
the  servants  for  their  good  offices.  Gringolet  is  led  forth, 
and  his  master  recognises,  in  his  appearance,  the  care  he 
has  received.     With  words  of  gratitude  and  blessing  for  thtj 


344        PRELUDE  TO  REFORMATION  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

inmates  of  the  castle,  Gawayne  mounts  his  horse,  takes  his 
shield,  and  rides  forth.  He  is  accompanied  by  a  servant  to 
carry  his  lance,  and  to  point  out  the  way.  They  go  through 
a  rocky,  cold,  foggy,  winter  landscape.  Having  reached  a 
high,  snow-clad  hill,  they  halt  at  the  attendant's  request. 
They  are  no  longer  far  from  the  goal,  and  now,  at  the  last 
hour,  the  servant  seeks  to  dissuade  Gawayne  from  his  pur- 
pose. He  describes  the  tremendous  height  and  strength  of 
the  Green  Knight,  who  has  no  mercy,  but  kills  every  one 
that  passes  the  Green  Chapel,  be  he  churl,  monk,  or  priest. 
"  Therefore,  noble  Sir  Gawayne,  let  this  man  alone,  and  go, 
for  God's  sake,  some  other  way.  I  will  hie  me  home,  and  I 
shall  swear  by  God  and  all  his  saints  to  keep  the  secret. 
Never  will  I  say  that  tliou  didst  flee  before  any  man." 
"  Many  thanks,"  says  Gawayne,  and  adds  with  displeasure : 
"  Hail  to  the  man  who  wishes  my  good !  I  believe  well 
thou  wouldst  faithfully  keep  my  secret.  But  should  I  fly 
because  of  fear,  as  thou  teilest  me,  I  should  be  a  coward 
knight;  I  should  not  be  excused.  But  I  will  go  to  the 
chapel  for  chance  that  may  fall,  and  speak  with  that  knight, 
come  weal  or  woe,  as  fate  may  have  it.  Though  he  is  a 
stern  man,  God  is  well  able  to  save  his  servants."  "  Mary  !  " 
says  the  other,  "if  thou  wilt  lose  thy  life,  I  will  not  let  nor 
keep  thee.  Have  here  thy  helmet  on  thy  head,  thy  spear  in 
thy  hand,  and  ride  me  down  this  path  by  yon  rocky  side, 
until  thou  be  brought  to  the  bottom  of  the  rugged  valley. 
Look  then  to  the  clearing  at  thy  left,  and  thou  shalt  see  the 
chapel  and  the  burly  hero  that  guards  it.  Now  fare  thee 
well  in  God's  name,  Gawayne  the  noble;  for  all  the  gold  in 
the  world,  I  would  not  go  with  thee."  With  these  words 
the  man  turns  his  horse,  puts  spur  to  him,  and  gallops  away. 
Gawayne  is  alone.  "  By  God's  self,"  he  says,  "  I  will  neither 
weep  nor  groan ;  I  am  full  ready  for  God's  will,  and  have 
committed  myself  to  him."  He  pursues  his  way,  and  soon 
reaches  the  valley.  He  in  vain  looks  around  for  the  chapel ; 
only  high  walls  of  rock  and  gnarled  trunks  confront  him.  At 
last  he  sees  a  smooth  hill  on  the  bank  of  a  stream,  that  bub- 
bles like  boiling  water.  Gawayne  dismounts,  ties  his  steed 
to  a  linden  bough,  and  examines  the  hill.  It  is  covered  with 
turf,  and  has  three  entrances ;  the  inside  is  all  hollow.  "  Can 
this  be  the  Green  Chapel?"  says  the  knight;  '-the  devil 


SIR  GA WAYNE  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT.  345 

might  say  mass  here  at  midnight."  He  begins  to  fear  that 
he  has  allowed  himself  to  be  ensnared  by  the  fiend.  After 
he  has  climbed  the  hill,  he  hears  aloud  noise  from  the  oppo- 
site bank,  like  the  grinding  of  a  scythe  on  a  grind-stone. 
Gawayne  thinks  that  the  sound  proceeds  from  his  enemy, 
who  is  preparing  for  the  encounter.  He  lifts  up  his  voice, 
and  calls  :  "  Who  dwells  in  this  place  to  hold  discourse  with 
me  ?  Now  goes  here  the  good  Gawayne,  if  any  man  will 
hurry  hither  to  have  his  wish,  now  or  never."  "  Abide  !  "  is 
the  answering  call  from  the  height  of  the  opposite  shore, 
"  and  thou  shalt  speedily  have  what  I  once  promised  thee." 
Once  more  resounds  the  dismal  noise,  and  then  springs  forth 
from  a  rocky  cave  the  Green  Knight,  dreadful  to  behold,  a 
new  Danish  axe  in  his  hand.  Leaning  on  his  axe,  he  jumps 
over  the  river,  and  approaches  Gawayne.  "  Welcome  to 
this  place,  Gawayne;  like  a  true  man,  thou  hast  timed  thy 
travel.  Thou  knowest  the  covenant  between  us;  we  are 
alone  here.  Take  off  thy  helmet  from  thy  head,  and  have 
thy  pay.  Make  no  more  debate  than  I  did  when  thou  didst 
strike  off  my  head  with  one  blow."  Gawayne  declares  him- 
self ready,  bends  his  head,  and  presents  his  bared  neck.  The 
Green  Knight  seizes  his  grim  weapon,  and  raises  it  for  the 
blow.  As  the  axe  falls,  Gawayne  shrinks  with  his  shoulders. 
His  opponent  holds,  and  reproaches  him  with  his  cowardice  ; 
he  himself  had  not  flinched  in  a  Hke  position.  "  I  flinched 
once,"  says  Gawayne,  "  but  will  no  more.  If  my  head  falls 
on  the  stones,  I  cannot  restore  it."  The  Green  Knight 
raises  the  axe  again.  This  time  Gawayne  does  not  move. 
"  Now  that  thou  hast  thy  heart  whole,  I  must  hit  thee;  look 
to  thy  neck,  if  so  be  it  recover  from  my  stroke !  "  Gawayne 
says  angrily,  "  Why,  thrash  on,  thou  proud  man,  thou  dost 
threaten  too  long;  I  believe  thine  own  heart  fails  thee." 
"  Forsooth,"  answers  the  other  hero,  "  thou  speakest  so  bold 
that  I  will  hinder  thy  fate  no  longer."  Wrinkling  lips  and 
brows,  he  reaches  out  for  the  third  time,  and  lets  the  axe  fall 
upon  Gawayne's  neck ;  but  he  only  slightly  wounds  him. 
The  blood  flows  over  the  hero's  shoulders  to  the  earth. 
When  he  sees  his  own  blood  on  the  snow,  Gawayne  springs 
aside,  arms  himself  with  helmet  and  shield,  draws  his  sword, 
and  speaks — never  since  his  mother  bore  him,  had  he  been 
half  so  glad, — "  Hold  now  with  thy  blow,  offer  me  no  more, 


34^        PRELUDE  TO  REFORMATION  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

one  stroke  I  have  taken  in  this  place  without  strife ;  if  thou 
givest  me  any  more,  I  will  readily  requite  it.  For  accord- 
ing to  our  covenant,  but  one  falls  to  me." 

The  Green  Knight  stands  quietly  resting  on  his  axe,  and 
looks  with  pleasure  at  the  undismayed  hero.  Then  he  speaks 
with  a  loud  voice :  "  Bold  knight,  be  not  so  angry ;  no  one 
has  done  thee  unmannerly  wrong  here.  We  acted  only  ac- 
cording to  our  agreement.  I  promised  thee  one  stroke,  thou 
hast  it,  hold  thee  well  paid.  I  release  thee  from  the  rest. 
If  I  had  been  more  wrathful,  I  could  have  dealt  thee  worse 
harm.  At  first  I  menaced  thee  with  one  stroke,  without 
striking  thee,  on  account  of  the  agreement  we  made  the  first 
night;  thou  didst  keep  it  faithfully,  and  gavest  me  all  thy 
gain.  The  second  feint  was  for  the  second  day  :  thou  didst 
kiss  my  wife,  and  gavest  me  the  kisses  again.  But  the  third 
time  thou  failedst,  and  therefore  hadst  thou  that  tap.  For 
mine  it  is,  that  woven  girdle  which  thou  wearest,  my  own 
wife  wove  it,  I  know  it  well.  I  know  well  thy  kisses  and 
thy  virtues  and  the  wooing  of  my  wife;  I  wrought  it  myself; 
I  sent  her  to  tempt  thee,  methinks,  the  most  faultless  hero, 
in  sooth,  that  ever  trod  the  earth.  As  pearls  are  of  more 
price  than  white  peas,  so  is  Gawayne  of  more  price  than 
other  gay  knights.  But  here  thou  hast  sinned  a  little ;  a 
little  thou  brokest  faith.  But  that  was  not  for  amorous  woo- 
ing ;  it  was  because  thou  lovedst  thy  life,  hence  I  blame  thee 
the  less." 

Full  of  shame  and  remorse,  Gawayne  stands  motionless ; 
all  the  blood  rushes  to  his  face.  "  Cursed  be  cowardice  and 
covetousness  both  !  In  you  are  villainy  and  vice,  that  de- 
stroy virtue ! "  He  takes  the  girdle,  and  throws  it  to  the 
knight,  while  bitterly  lamenting  his  faithlessness.  "  Cow- 
ardice," he  says  in  a  manner  characteristic  of  the  poet, 
"  cowardice  taught  me  to  accord  with  covetousness,  and  to 
forsake  my  nature :  the  generosity  and  loyalty  that  belong 
to  a  knight."  The  lord  of  the  chapel  thinks  that  Gawayne 
has  sufficiently  expiated  his  fault  by  his  open  confession, 
and,  moreover,  that  he  has  atoned  for  it  by  the  wound  re- 
ceived. He  presents  Gawayne  with  the  girdle,  as  a  token 
of  the  adventure,  and  invites  him  to  return  with  him  to  the 
castle  and  there  finish  the  festival  in  pleasures.  "  With  my 
wife,  who  was  thy  keen  enemy,  we  shall  soon  reconcile  thee." 


CLOSE  OF  SIR  GAWAYNE.  347 

But  Gawayne  declines  this  offer.  He  wishes  God's  blessing 
on  his  host,  and  commends  himself  to  the  ladies  who  have 
so  cunningly  beguiled  him.  But  how  should  a  man  escape 
being  deceived  by  a  woman  ?  Did  not  the  same  thing  hap- 
pen to  Adam,  Solomon,  Samson,  and  David  ?  How  could 
a  man  love  women,  and  not  believe  them  ?  Gawayne  with 
thanks  accepts  the  green  girdle.  He  will  wear  it  as  a 
sign  of  his  guilt,  as  a  safeguard  against  self-sufficiency. 
Finally  he  begs  the  Green  Knight  to  tell  him  his  name. 
The  latter  says  he  is  Bernlac  de  Hautdesert.  He  declares 
that  the  instigator  of  the  whole  affair  is  Morgan  the  Fay, 
Arthur's  half-sister,  the  pupil  of  Merlin,  who  was  desirous  of 
putting  Queen  Guenever  into  deadly  fear.  She  was  the  old 
dame  whom  Gawayne  had  seen  in  company  with  the  lady. 
Sir  Bernlac  makes  a  last  vain  attempt  to  persuade  Gawayne 
to  remain  longer  at  his  house.  Then  the  two  men  in  fare- 
well embrace  each  other,  and  each  rides  his  way. 

There  is  much  joy  at  Arthur's  court  over  Gawayne's  return. 
The  hero,  sighing  with  grief,  frankly  relates  his  entire  ad- 
venture, and  shows  the  girdle,  the  token  of  his  shame.  But 
the  king  and  his  court  comfort  him  with  friendly  words,  and 
resolve  that  every  knight  of  the  Round  Table  shall  wear  a 
green  girdle  in  his  honour. 

We  have,  perhaps,  given  this  romance  at  greater  length 
than  was  pleasing  to  every  reader.  But  does  not  the  poem 
deserve  the  fullest  consideration  ?  Here  we  have  for  the 
first  time  a  conscious  art  of  composition,  capable  of  plan- 
ning a  symmetrical  and  attractive  whole.  The  division  of 
the  romance  into  "  fyttes  "  (pieces,  sections,  cantos),  which 
earlier  poets  had  nearly  always  done  mechanically,  of  neces- 
sity follows  from  the  organic  construction  of  the  story.  Be- 
sides, this  poet  knows  well  how  to  hold  our  attention  and 
our  expectation.  How  concretely  graphic  and  truly  poetical 
is  his  style  !  His  wealth  of  fancy  and  delicate  feeling  appear 
notably  in  the  third  canto,  where,  wäth  great  art,  he  varies 
two  themes,  each  thrice,  and  describes  a  most  questionable 
situation  with  great  propriety. 

Finally,  all  this  art  is  in  the  service  of  moral  ideas.  It 
may  be  objected  that  our  poet  obtrudes  the  Hacc  fabula 
docet  altogether  too  plainly ;  the  reader  may  regret  that  the 
whole  test  is  the  work  of  deliberate  cunning,  not  of  the  force 


348        PRELUDE  TO  REFORMATION  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

of  circumstances  or  mighty  passions ;  and  that  he  is,  there- 
fore, at  the  close,  almost  ashamed  of  the  sympathy  with 
which  he  has  followed  Gawayne  on  his  perilous  journey. 
Nevertheless,  this  romance  is  the  work  of  a  genuine  poet, 
and  of  a  thinking  artist.  We  do  not  merely  discern  the  in- 
tention of  presenting  certain  ideas,  they  find  adequate  sensu- 
ous expression;  their  value  is  brought  to  our  consciousness 
in  concrete  human  types. 

Sir  Gawayne  differs  in  metrical  form  from  the  Adventures 
of  Arthiir,  in  that  the  long  lines  of  each  strophe  have  allit- 
eration only,  without  rhyme,  and  that  their  number  is  not 
fixed;  while  the  rhymed  short  lines  at  the  close  are  intro- 
duced by  a  verse  of  one  accent,  in  the  order,  a  b  a  b  a.  The 
first  strophes  of  the  second  canto,  given  above,  illustrate  this. 

The  transition  to  those  creations  of  our  poet  having  a  de- 
cided religious  colouring  is  made  in  a  poem  that  not  only 
suggests  but  directly  describes  a  crisis  in  his  inner  life.  It  is 
rightly  named  The  Pearl. 

The  poet  had  married  (his  lord  having,  perhaps,  given  him 
a  home  of  his  own  as  a  reward  for  faithful  service).  A  child, 
a  svreet  girl,  radiant  in  innocence,  had  blessed  this  union. 
The  father  concentrated  all  his  affection  upon  the  child,  and 
so  exclusively  that  we  are  led  to  believe  the  mother  had  not 
long  survived  her  birth.  The  dearest  ideals  of  the  thought- 
ful poet  were  embodied  in  his  daughter.  But  the  pitiless 
hand  of  fate  tore  her  away  at  the  tenderest  age.  The  poem 
describes  the  father's  feelings  at  her  death,  and  tells  how  he 
was  comforted. 

It  begins  in  an  exalted  lyrical  strain,  with  a  lament  on  the 
lost  pearl,  whose  beauty  and  splendour  are  sung  in  extrava- 
gant language.  We  see  the  lonely  father,  spell-bound  by 
grief  and  longing,  lingering  on  the  grave  that  hides  his 
dearest  treasure.  He  is  there  overcome  by  sleep,  and  a 
beautiful  vision  is  unfolded  to  him.  The  poet  finds  himself 
in  a  smiling  spring  landscape,  with  stately  trees  and  beaute- 
ous flowers,  singing  birds  of  lovely  plumage  and  shining 
rocks,  from  which  he  is  separated  by  a  clear,  murmuring 
brook.  On  the  opposite  shore  he  beholds  his  vanished  pearl, 
more  beautiful  and  resplendent  than  he  had  ever  seen  her. 
His  attempts  to  reach  her  are  vain.  A  discourse  between 
the  mourning  father  and  the  transfigured  daughter  ensues, 


POEM  OF  THE  PEARL.  349 

that  fills  the  breast  of  the  bereaved  man  now  with  great  joy, 
and  now  with  anxious  pain  and  doubt.  But  all  doubts  are 
finally  resolved ;  the  father  no  longer  wonders  at  the  high 
honour  vouchsafed  his  child  in  heaven.  He  learns  to  prize 
the  dignity  of  innocence,  and  the  bliss  of  leaving  the  world 
in  unstained  childhood.  With  his  own  eyes  he  beholds  his 
daughter  in  the  ranks  of  those  that  surround  the  Lamb  of  the 
Apocalypse.  His  pain  passes  away  in  joy  at  her  happiness, 
and  in  wonder  at  divine  wisdom  and  love;  and  his  longing 
is  purified  in  submission  to  the  divine  will. 

Full  of  deep  and  delicate  feeling,  rich  in  thought  and 
creative  fancy,  the  poem  was  decidedly  influenced  by  the 
allegorical  poetry  of  the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  centuries, 
as  regards  choice,  combination,  and  treatment  of  motives. 
Yet  here,  as  in  the  Divine  Comedy^  the  allegory  is  lifted 
almost  to  symbolism  by  its  earnestness  and  intensity,  and 
by  the  evident  mysticism  which  is  connected  with  a  well- 
known  passage  of  the  Apocalypse.  The  poet  modelled 
diction  and  form  after  those  of  a  colleague  in  art  from  the 
Welsh  Marches,  almost  contemporary  with  him,  and  the  au- 
thor of  a  Song  of  Merci,  a  So7ig  of  Deo  gracias}  and  other 
poems.  In  these  there  is  also  a  close  union  of  lyrical  and 
didactic  elements,  noble  language  with  real  wealth  of  thought, 
and,  more  rarely,  an  inclination  to  allegory  and  symbolism. 
Here,  too,  we  find  the  strophe  employed  by  the  poet  of  The 
Pearl ;  it  has  twelve  lines  with  four  accents,  rhymed  accord 
ing  to  the  scheme,  ababababbcbc,  and  combin- 
ing rhyme  with  alliteration.  The  strophes  close  with  a  sor(. 
of  refrain,  to  which  the  beginning  of  each  following  strophe 
is  often  joined  by  the  repetition  of  a  word.  All  these  expe- 
dients, reminding  us  of  the  more  ancient  western  lyrics,  and, 
above  all,  of  Laurence  Minot's  ballads,  are  used  very  consist- 
ently by  the  author  of  The  Pearl.  At  the  same  time  he  in- 
creases the  technical  difficulties  by  attempting  symmetrical 
relations  of  verse  on  a  larger  scale.  The  poem  contains 
twenty  parts,  each  having  five  strophes,^  and,  like  the  close 

'  Published  by  Furnivall  in  Early  Etiglish  Poems  and  Lives  of  Saints,  pp  118 
and  124.  To  the  same  poet  may  belong  the  poems  printed  on  pp.  130  an('  133  of  :..at 
work. 

2  In  Morris's  edition  {Early  English  Alliterative  Poems),  the  poem  has  twenty-one 
divisions ;  but  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  are  really  one.  One  division,  moreover, 
Oounts  six  strophes  (No.  15).  This  is  certainly  not  due  to  artistic  intention,  but  was 
either  an  oversight  of  the  poet  or  an  iaterpoiaiion. 


350        PRELUDE  TO  REFORiMATION  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

and  beginning  of  the  strophes,  the  single  parts  are  also  united 
by  the  repetition  of  the  same,  or  a  related  word,  now  and 
then  of  a  homonym,  while  the  last  Hne  of  the  poem  corre- 
sponds with  the  opening  one.  In  this  most  artificial  form, 
which,  according  to  our  feeling,  is  little  adapted  to  the  sub- 
ject, the  poet  works  with  perfect  ease.  His  diction  is  faulty 
only  in  too  great  copiousness,  and  his  descriptions  in  too 
much  wealth  and  brilliancy. 

Two  main  ideas  are  put  forth  in  The  Pearly  both  already 
presented,  if  not  with  equal  force,  in  Gaway?ie :  the  ideas 
of  innocence  (purity)  and  of  submission  to  the  divine  wdll. 
Each  of  them  was  treated  by  the  poet  later  in  a  special  work, 
Clannesse  and  Pacieiice. 

These,  the  most  mature  products  of  his  art,  take  the 
ground  of  religious  didactics.  The  starting-point  in  both 
poems  is  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  in  the  gospel  of  St.  Mat- 
thew. But  as  the  thought  is  perceptive  and  the  expression 
metaphorical,  we  have  genuine  poetry  also  in  these  works. 
But  the  subjective  element,  so  strong  in  The  Pearly  makes 
itself  but  occasionally  felt,  appearing  most  clearly  in  the  in- 
troductions to  the  two  poems.  The  aim  of  the  writer,  as  in 
Gaway?2e,  is  to  present  his  idea  objectively.  He  chooses 
from  Old  Testament  history  those  topics  teaching,  by  the 
depiction  of  their  opposites,  the  virtues  of  purity  and  patient 
submission.  Thus  he  joins  the  religious  epic  poets  of  his 
nation,  and  at  once  reaches  the  highest  rank  among  them. 
He  is  not  to  be  compared  with  such  men  as  the  composers 
of  the  Gejiesis  and  Exodus^  or  the  Cin'sor  mimdi ;  for  he 
can  measure  himself  with  the  best  among  the  Old  English 
religious  poets.  Tenderer  than  the  author  of  the  yndith,  but 
much  less  vague  than  Cynewulf,  he  is  superior  to  the  former 
in  delicacy  and  yields  him  nothing  in  clearness.  He  is  ex- 
celled by  none  in  power  of  expression  and  fresh  sensuous- 
ness  of  description,  when  we  take  into  account  the  youthful 
vigour  of  the  language  and  the  abundant  epic  tradition  from 
which  those  older  poets  could  draw.  It  is  true,  he  has  the 
advantage  of  wider  experience  and  of  advanced  culture; 
with  his  contemporaries,  however,  such  culture  was  so  far 
from  harmonious  that  this  fact  rather  raises  than  lowers  his 
individual  status.  The  final  impression  given  by  these  works 
is  admiration  for  the  poet's  talent,  mingled  with  regret  that 


CLANNESSE  AND  PACIENCE.  35 1 

he  did  not  belong  to  a  more  truly  epic  age,  or  to  an  age  that 
would  have  yielded  a  fitter  art-style  to  his  richer  and  more 
delicate  feehng. 

He  uses  the  alliterative  long  line  in  both  poems,  without 
strophic  division  or  rhyme.  His  language  has,  therefore, 
an  evener  and  broader  flow,  and  becomes  more  distinctly 
epic.  The  inner  cast  of  these  poems  also  betokens  the  artist 
able  to  group  masses.  This  grouping  has  more  complex 
proportion  in  Clannesse,  where  three  epic  subjects  alternate: 
the  deluge,  the  destruction  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  and 
the  fall  of  Belshazzar,  the  desecrator  of  the  temple.  It  is 
simpler  and  severer  in  Pacience,  where  only  the  story  of 
Jonah  is  told. 

The  last-named  work  is  perhaps  the  writer's  masterpiece. 
In  beauty  of  single  descriptions,  it  does  not  fall  behind  either 
Gawayne  or  Clannesse ;  it  excels  the  latter  in  finish  of  com- 
position and  equal  disposal  of  motives,  and  it  excels  both  in 
the  evident  and  more  practical  relation  of  the  material  to  the 
personality  of  the  author.  He  plainly  portrays,  in  the  fort- 
unes of  Jonah,  his  own  struggle  for  inward  peace  and  sub- 
jection of  will  to  Providence;  and  the  prelude  discloses  the 
aging  poet,  who  has  felt  the  pains  of  poverty  and  privation, 
as  well  as  loneliness. 

These  last  works,  too,  oftentimes  betray  the  influence  of 
the  allegorical  school,  most  distinctly  so  in  Clamiesse  where 
the  e?2fafit  terrible  of  this  school,  Jehan  de  Meun,  is  ex- 
pressly mentioned. 

This  name  and  the  productions  connected  with  it  will  soon 
confi-ont  us  in  studying  one  greater  than  the  poet  of  the 
Gawayne. 

For  we  are  in  a  period  that,  unhke  the  previous  one,  does 
not  force  us  to  divide  our  attention  among  a  mass  of  medi- 
ocre minds,  but  rather  invites  us  to  concentrate  it  upon  a 
few  great,  typical  figures,  towering  above  the  crowd. 

III. 

When  the  author  of  Gawayfte  wrote  his  Clannesse  and 
Pacience,  the  alHterative  measure,  through  the  agency  of  an- 
other poem,  had  already  become  popular  far  beyond  the 
borders  of  its  original  home. 


352        PRELUDE  TO  REFORMATION  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

This  poetry  also,  in  its  origin,  belongs  to  the  west,  and  to 
the  Welsh  Marches ;  but  despite  its  speech  wavering  between 
western  and  southern  dialects,  it  soon  left  provincial  litera- 
ture, to  enter  the  circle  of  national  poetry.  The  author  of 
the  Visio  de  Petro  riowman  is  the  oldest  Middle  English  v/riter 
whose  memory,  in  the  broader  sense,  has  lived  to  the  mod- 
ern age.  We  know  the  man  only  from  his  work.  A  doubt- 
ful and  ill-substantiated  tradition  adds  no  essential  feature 
to  his  portrait. 

William  Langland  (perhaps  more  correctly,  Langley)  was 
bom  about  the  year  1332.  He  is  said  to  have  been  a  na- 
tive of  Cleobury  Mortimer  in  Shropshire,  The  name  of  his 
father  is  given  as  Stacy  de  Rokele  (Rokayle)  qui  Staciiis 
fiiit  generosus.  There  seems,  at  an  early  time,  to  have  been 
intercourse  between  William's  family  and  that  of  the  Bur- 
nels,  an  eminent  house  in  Shropshire.  The  Burnels  had  by 
marriage  acquired  the  manor  of  Shipton-under-Wychwood 
in  Oxfordshire,  belonging  to  the  noble  family  of  le  Spenser; 
Stacy  de  Rokele  rented  land  connected  with  it,  and  conse- 
quently had  settled  in  Oxfordshire  with  his  family.  William 
received  a  careful  education ;  he  doubtless  attended  a  Latin 
school.  That  he  studied  at  the  university  is  not  quite  cer- 
tain, although  mo^t  probable ;  and  if  he  did,  we  naturally 
think  of  him  at  Oxford.  The  well-grown,  serious,  and 
studious  youth  was  evidently  destined  for  the  church,  but  he 
seems  to  have  received  only  the  first  tonsure,  thus  becoming 
ckficus,  but  never  priest.  After  the  death  of  his  father  and 
of  his  patron,  William  led  a  changeful  life,  and  alone  wan- 
dered over  a  great  part  of  his  native  country.  His  work 
shows  that  he  came  to  know  care  and  privation.  But  he 
never  seems  to  have  taken  up  any  secular  trade,  nor  to  have 
tried  to  enter  practical  life.  Given  to  study  and  contempla- 
tion, the  activity  of  the  world  was  to  him  a  drama,  which  he 
watched  with  keen  glance  and  quick  sympathy,  but  in  which 
he  felt  no  call  to  take  active  part.  He  perhaps  brought 
personal  endeavour  to  bear  within  a  narrow  circle,  and  upon 
single  objects,  but  he  gained  a  broader  field  of  action  only 
as  author. 

His  great  work  first  presents  the  poet  on  Malvern  Hills 
in  Worcestershire.  We  afterwards  find  him  married  at 
Cornhill  in  London.     In  the  last  years  of  his  life  he  seems 


WILLIAM  LANGLAND. 


353 


to  have  returned  to  the  west.     He  died  presumably  not  long 
after  the  opening  of  the  reign  of  Henry  IV. 

Like  Richard  Rolle,  William  glowed  with  moral  and  re- 
Hgious  passion ;  like  the  hermit  of  Hampole,  he  early  asked 
himself  the  question  what  was  the  mission  and  destiny  of 
man,  and  by  what  means  the  ideal,  when  recognised,  might 
be  reached.  But  here  their  paths  separate.  Both  were  re- 
cluses and  wanderers,  both  in  a  sense  renounced  the  world 
and  retired  into  themselves ;  both  had  visions  and  described 
them;  but  they  felt  and  did  these  things  in  quite  different 
ways.  More  humane,  more  manly,  and  less  exalted  than 
Richard,  William  never  rose  to  such  asceticism  and  eccle- 
siastical sanctity  as  did  his  predecessor,  and  he  probably  never 
aimed  to  do  so.  Richard's  seclusion  and  anxious  dread  of 
contact  with  the  material  world  corresponded  in  William 
with  an  almost  philosophic  indifference  or  sobriety.  The 
sublunary  world  that  filled  Richard  with  fear  and  disgust, 
yielded  aesthetic  pleasure  to  William.  A  trait  at  once  poetic 
and  philosophic  made  him  enjoy  the  beauty  of  this  world, 
and  boldly  conceive  the  doings  of  men,  not  less  through  the 
heart  than  the  intellect.  The  satirical  mood  thus  awakened 
was  chastened  and  brightened  by  a  touch  of  humour.  Wil- 
liam found  his  religious  ideal  in  the  life  of  Christ  and  in  the 
lives  of  the  first  Christians,  while  Richard  looked  for  the 
heavenly  Jerusalem  on  earth.  Richard's  visions  seem  like 
the  outcome  of  a  morbid  ecstacy ;  but  the  dreams  of  William 
make  us  feel  that  the  poet  stands  on  firm  ground,  while  his 
fancy  roams  in  the  remotest  spaces. 

Not  less  unlike  were  their  relations  to  the  church  and  to 
humanity.  Richard's  immediate  sphere  of  action  was  a 
much  wider  one,  but  the  object  of  his  study,  as  of  his  work, 
was  but  the  individual  as  such.  William,  on  the  other  hand, 
ever  had  the  aggregate  in  view,  the  society  living  in  church 
and  state ;  and  as  his  horizon  was  larger,  so  was  his  influence 
deeper  and  broader. 

Before  middle  life,  William,  like  Dante,  had  recognised 
that  the  world  was  out  of  joint.  He  too  looked  with  long- 
ing for  the  deliverer  who  should  set  it  right ;  he  too,  with  all 
the  powers  of  his  soul,  wrestled  for  the  knowledge  of  salva- 
tion, for  himself  as  for  others;  he  too  hfted  up  his  voice  in 
warning  and  menace,  before  the  great  and  mighty  of  the 

X 


354        PRELUDE  TO  REFORMATION  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

earth,  before  princes  and  priests ;  he  too  held  up  a  mirror  to 
the  world,  in  which  it  saw  both  its  own  image  and  the  ideal 
to  which  it  had  grown  faitliiess. 

But  unlike  the  Italian  poet,  William  did  not  attain  a  full 
and  clear  theory  of  life,  and  hence  he  failed  to  put  together 
what  he  had  lived  and  seen,  in  a  symmetrical,  distinctly-drawn 
picture,  with  the  mighty  personality  of  the  poet  for  its  centre. 
The  Vision  coticeniing  Piers  Plowman  is  a  series  of  paintings 
whose  mutual  connection  lies  more  in  the  intention  than  in 
actual  execution,  and  each  of  them  has,  besides  clearly  illum- 
ined groups,  others  that  seem  enveloped  in  mist,  whose  out- 
lines we  may  feel  rather  than  perceive,  and  still  others  whose 
dim  figures  first  receive  colour  and  life  from  our  fancy. 

But  the  mind  of  the  poet  is  all-pervading ;  it  takes  hold 
upon  the  heart  of  the  reader,  compels  it  to  enter  into  the  se- 
cret purposes  of  the  poetry ;  and  thus  is  proved,  even  here, 
despite  the  mass  of  unformed  material,  the  superior  power 
of  Teutonic  poesy,  needing  neither  the  music  of  language 
nor  the  charm  of  image  to  find  its  way  to  the  heart,  and 
whose  very  essence  is  directness. 

What  was  the  author's  culture,  the  literary  atmosphere  in 
which  we  are  to  study  him  ? 

Langland's  reading  was  by  no  means  slight,  but  it  was 
rather  special  than  general,  and  somewhat  one-sided. 

He  seems  most  familiar  with  Holy  Writ  and  the  great 
Latin  fathers ;  in  Roman  profane  literature  he  was  acquainted 
with  satirists,  as  Juvenal,  and  moralists,  as  Dionysius  Cato. 
As  he  understood  French,  he  had  doubtless  read  the  Romance 
of  the  Rose  and  The  Tour?iament  of  Antichrist,  by  Huon  de 
Mery  (about  1228).  Allegory  dwelt,  moreover,  in  the  spirit 
of  the  age ;  mediaeval  theology  had  taken  it  from  the  Bible 
and  the  church  fathers,  and  English  literature  had  frequently 
employed  it  in  religious  writings.  William  doubtless  knew 
such  poems  as  Robert  Grosseteste's  Castel  d'amour,  of 
which  perhaps  two  renderings  then  existed ;  the  honest,  but 
exceedingly  formless,  imitation  by  the  monk  of  Sallay  being 
probably  half  a  century  older  than  Langland's  Vision.  In 
the  Castel  d'amour,  a  recapitulation  of  the  religious  history 
of  mankind,  allegory  is  brought  to  bear,  especially  in  the  cen- 
tral part  that  treats  of  redemption ;  here  the  castle  of  love  is 
the  bosom  of  the  Holy  Virgin.     William,  however,  seems  to 


VISION  CONCERNING  PIERS  PLOWMAN.  355 

have  been  impressed  above  all  by  the  passage  where  the 
four  daughters  of  the  most  high  king,  Mercy,  Truth,  Right- 
eousness, and  Peace,^  debate  on  the  redemption  of  man. 

As  regards  the  English  writers  preceding  him,  Langland 
owed  most  to  the  preachers  and  satirists.  Especially  did  the 
poem  on  the  Evil  Times  of  Edward  II.  yield  him  caustic  and 
vigorous  satire  on  all  classes.  There  were  also  attempts  at 
prophecy,  which  were  generally  popular  in  the  English  Mid- 
dle Ages,  and  were  continually  called  forth  anew  by  the  ex- 
igencies of  the  times.  A  certain  infection  of  mysticism  was 
in  the  air;  this  led,  of  itself,  to  the  idea  of  the  vision  as  the 
poetic  frame,  and  William  had  not  to  borrow  it  from  the  ro- 
mance-poets. 

The  alliterative  measure  had  again  just  come  into  use  in 
the  Welsh  Marches  when  our  poet  began  his  work.  William 
aptly  chose  it  for  his  forcible,  clear-cut  writing,  which  was  at 
once  popular  and  noble,  easy  and  restrained. 

He  put  his  hand  to  the  work  in  the  year  1362.  The  times 
and  the  mood  of  the  English  population  were  favourable  to 
his  purpose.  In  the  year  just  passed,  the  plague  had  raged 
in  the  kingdom,  for  the  second  time  in  the  reign  of  Edward 
III.  Again,  on  the  fifteenth  of  January,  1362,  men  were 
filled  with  terror  by  a  devastating  tempest,  that  seemed  to 
usher  in  the  judgment  day.  It  was  the  right  moment  for 
the  appearance  of  a  prophet  and  preacher  of  repentance. 

Let  us  consider  the  poem  more  closely.  It  begins  as 
follows : 

In  a  somer  sesun,  when  softe  was  J)e  sonne, 
I  schop  me  in-to  a  schroud,  A  scheep  as  I  were ; 
In  Habite  of  an  Hermite  vnholy  of  werkes, 
Wende  I  wydene  in  l)is  world,  wondres  to  hei^e. 
Bote  in  a  Mayes  Morwnynge  on  Maluerne  hulles 
Me  be-fel  a  ferly,  A  Feyrie  me  J)ouhte ; 
I  was  weori  of  wandringe  and  wente  me  to  reste 
Vndur  a  brod  banke  bi  a  Bourne  syde, 
And  as  I  lay  and  leonede  and  lokede  on  l)e  watres, 
I  slumberde  in  A  slepyng,  hit  sownede  so  murie. 
Fenne  gon  I  Meeten,  A  Meruelous  sweuene, 
Pat  I  was  in  A  Wildernesse,  wuste  I  neuer  where, 
And  as  I  beo-heold  in-to  J^e  Est,  an-heij  to  J^e  sonne, 
*     I  sauh  a  Tour  on  A  Toft  [tritely]  I-maket ; 

1  "Mercy,  Sothfastnes,  Rightwysnes,  Pees."  Grosseteste  himself  owecj  this  alle 
gory  to  a  homily  by  St.  BcrnarcJ. 


356        PRELUDE  TO  REFORiMATION  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

A  Deop  Dale  bi-neoJ)e,  A  dungun  ^er-Inne, 

With  deop  dich  and  derk  and  dredful  of  siht. 

A  Fair  feld  ful  of  folk,  fond  I  J)er  bi-twene, 

Of  alle  nianer  of  men,  'pe  mene  and  J)e  riche, 

Worchinge  and  wondringe,  as  J)e  world  askej). 

Summe  putten  hem  to  ^e  plou^  and  pleiden  hem  ful  seidene, 

In  Eringe  and  in  Sowynge  swonken  ful  harde, 

Pat  monie  of  J)eos  wasturs  In  Glotonye  distruen. 

And  summe  putten  hem  to  pruide  apparaylden  hem  J)er-after, 

In  Cuntinaunce  of  cloJ)inge  queinteliche  de-Gyset; 

To  preyere  and  to  penaunce  putten  heom  monye, 

For  loue  of  vr  lord  liueden  ful  harde. 

In  Hope  for  to  haue  Heuene-riche  blisse.l 

Thus  the  most  diverse  classes  and  callings  pass  in  review 
before  the  poet :  merchants,  minstrels,  jesters,  beggars  who 
live  in  luxury ;  pilgrims  who  go  to  Santiago  or  Rome,  who 
"  went  forth  in  their  vray,  with  many  wise  tales,  and  had 
leave  to  lie,  all  their  life  after;  "  mendicant  friars  of  all  four 
orders,^  "  preaching  to  the  people  for  profit  of  their  bellies, 
glozing  the  gospel  as  they  like;  "  a  pardoner,  who  produces 
a  bull  provided  with  episcopal  seals,  and  gathers  rings  and 
brooches  from  the  ignorant  who  kneeling  kiss  it ;  parsons, 
who  beg  permission  of  their  bishops  to  leave  their  parishes, 
impoverished  by  the  plague,  and  to  live  in  London  in  order 
to  "  sing  there  for  simony,  for  silver  is  sweet;  "  sergeants-at- 
law,  whose  mouths  are  only  opened  by  ready  money ;  bishops 
and  deacons,  v.ho  enter  into  the  service  of  the  state  and  the 
court ;  barons  and  burgesses ;  tradesmen  of  all  guilds. 

That  "  fair  field  full  of  folk  "  clearly  represents  this  world. 
The  meaning  of  the  tower  on  the  hill  and  of  the  deep  dale 
is  interpreted  for  us  and  the  poet  by  a  beautiful  woman 
clothed  in  Hnen,  w4io  comes  down  to  him  from  the  hill.  She 
herself  is  the  "  Holy  Church,"  the  tower  is  the  dwelling-place 
of  "Truth,"  (that  is,  of  God  himself);  the  dungeon  in  the 
dale  is  the  castle  of  Care,  whose  lord  is  Wrong,  the  father  of 
Falsehood.  In  answer  to  his  questions,  William  is  instructed 
as  to  the  nature  of  Truth,  the  best  of  treasures.  Her  voice 
speaks  audibly  in  the  bosom  of  every  man,  and  tells  him  that 
Love  is  the  readiest  way  to  heaven. 

William  begs  farther:  "  For  Mary's  love  of  heaven,  that 
bore  that  blissful  child,  that  bought  us  on  the  rood,  teach  me 

1  Pz't'rs  Plozi'inan.  ed.  Skcat,  Text  A,  v.  1-27. 
2  Dominicans,  Franciscans,  Carmelites,  Aujiistins- 


flEHS  PLOWMAN.  357 

by  some  cvaft  to  know  Falsehood."  "  Look  up  to  thy  left," 
is  the  answer,  "  and  see  where  they  stand,  both  False  (False- 
hood) and  Fauvel,^  and  their  many  companions."  The  poet 
follows  her  directions,  and  he  discovers  in  the  group  a  richly 
and  strikingly  decked  woman.  "What  is  this  woman  so 
strangely  attired  ? "  "  That  is  the  maid  Meed  (reward, 
bribery)  who  hath  harmed  me  full  oft,  hath  mocked  my 
teaching ;  ....  in  the  pope's  palace  she  is  as  at  home  as  my- 
self, which  should  not  be  so,  for  Wrong  is  her  father.  .  .  . 
I  ought  to  be  better  than  she,  I  came  of  a  better.  .  .  .  Now 
Meed  will  be  married  to  False.  Fauvel,  through  his  fair 
speech,  hath  brought  them  together,  and  all  is  Guile's  lead- 
ing that  thus  she  is  wedded.  To-morrow  will  be  made  the 
maiden's  bridal ;  and  there  thou  mayest  know,  if  thou  wilt, 
who  they  all  are  that  belong  to  that  lordship.  Know  them 
there  if  thou  canst.  Beware  of  them  all,  if  thou  wiliest  to 
dwell  with  Truth  in  his  bliss.  I  may  no  longer  tarry.  Now 
I  leave  thee  to  God ;  become  a  good  man  in  spite  of  Covet- 
ousness."  Holy  Church  leaves  the  poet  to  watch  the  prepa- 
rations for  the  wedding,  and  the  further  developments.  A 
great  crowd  has  gathered  to  witness  the  solemnities;  ten 
thousand  tents  are  erected  to  accommodate  them.  Sir  Simony 
and  Civil,  who  represents  office-holding,  read  the  deed  of 
the  lovers'  dowry ;  the  document  is  then  sealed  and  signed. 
Theology,  however,  opposes  the  marriage,  and  contests  its 
legality.  It  is  agreed  to  go  to  Westminster  and  have  the 
matter  decided  by  the  king's  court.  Now  horses  are  lack- 
ing; but  help  is  soon  provided  for  this  emergency.  Meed 
rides  upon  the  back  of  a  sheriff.  False  on  that  of  an  assizer, 
Fauvel  on  Fair  Speech,  and  all  are  similarly  mounted.  The 
whole  company  is  led  by  Guile.  Before  they  reach  the  court, 
however,  Soothness  arrives  there  and  tells  the  tale  to 
Conscience,  who  imparts  it  to  the  king.  The  king,  in  this 
place  Edward  III.,  swears  vengeance  on  False  and  Fauvel, 
and  all  their  companions.     Dread  stands  at  the  door,  and 

1  In  Fauvel,  meaning  "flattery"  in  Langland,  we  have  a  special  application  of  an 
originally  more  comprehensive  allegorical  idea.  The  name  Fauvel,  in  Early  French 
and  Middle  English,  is  frequently  given  to  animals  oi  fav el co\q\xx,  especially  to  horses. 
In  the  Roman  de  Fauvel,  however,  it  is  the  name  of  a  beast,  symbolising  the  reigning 
vices  in  church  and  society.  The  coitlettr  Jauve  of  the  beastis  still  alluded  to,  though 
the  name  is,  falsely,  explained  as  a  compound  offauls  and  vel.  As  Fauvel's  children, 
are  mentioned  Flnlerle,  Avarice,  Vilcnie,  Varieti!,  Envie  VinA  Laschete.  The  initial 
letters  of  these  words,  being  combined,  give  the  word  FAVVEL.  See  Jahrbuch  für 
romanische  und  englische  Literatur,  VII,  321. 


35^        PRlELUDE  TO  REFORMATION  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

warns  the  menaced  ones,  and  they  all  quickly  flee.  False 
flies  to  the  friars;  Guile  finds  refuge  with  the  merchants, 
whom  he  serves  as  apprentice.  Liar,  hunted  by  all,  is  finally 
received  by  pardoners,  who  wash  and  clothe  him,  and  send 
him  into  the  church  with  pardons.  Thereupon  leeches, 
spicers,  and  minstrels  try  to  get  him.  Finally,  the  mendi- 
cant friars  succeed  in  procuring  him.  Meanwhile  Meed  is 
taken  to  Westminster.  She  is  in  great  fear,  but  she  finds 
many  a  good  friend  at  court.  She  knows  how  to  win  the 
favour  of  justices  and  clerks  by  presents  and  promises.  A 
confessor  in  the  cowl  of  a  friar,  to  whom  she  confesses  her 
sins,  absolves  her  for  a  noble,  and  promises  her  eternal  salva- 
tion if  she  will  provide  the  order  with  an  expensive  glass 
window.  When  she  is  brought  before  the  king,  he  holds  her 
bad  behaviour  up  to  her,  but  promises  pardon  if  she  will 
marry  his  knight.  Conscience.  Meed  is  quite  willing,  but 
Conscience  strongly  protests  against  this  union,  and  launches 
a  very  energetic  diatribe  against  the  maid,  who  has  caused 
Adam's  fall,  has  poisoned  popes,  and  is  corrupting  the  holy 
church.  Meed  tries  to  defend  herself,  and  attacks  her  op- 
ponent, but  he  overcomes  her  arguments,  illustrates  the  results 
of  covetousness  by  the  example  of  Saul,  and  foretells  a  time 
when  Reason  shall  reign  in  the  world,  and  with  her.  Love, 
Humility,  and  Loyalty.  "  Meed,"  says  Conscience,  "  makes 
of  misdoers  such  rich  people  that  Law  (jurisprudence,  the 
jurists)  has  become  lord,  and  Loyalty  is  poor.  .  .  .  But 
Common  Sense  will  return,  and  with  it.  Conscience,  and  will 
make  Law  a  labourer :  (that  is,  will  deprive  lawyers  of  their 
bread),  such  love  shall  arise." 

The  king  stands  by  his  purpose  of  marrying  Meed  to 
Conscience,  but  Conscience  will  not  obey  unless  Reason 
counsels  him  to  it.  Reason  is,  therefore,  summoned,  and 
appears  accompanied  by  Wisdom  and  Wit.  At  the  same 
time  comes  Peace  with  a  complaint  against  Wrong.  Wrong 
succeeds,  with  the  help  of  Meed,  in  gaining  Wisdom  and 
Wit  over  to  his  cause,  and  Peace  herself  is  persuaded  to 
withdraw  her  complaint  by  a  present  from  Meed.  Reason, 
however,  is  immovable,  and  counsels  the  king  to  carry  out 
the  strictest  justice.  The  king  declares  himself  ready  to 
obey,  and  requests  Reason  to  stay  with  him.  "  I  am  all 
ready  to  rest  with  thee  forever,"  says  Reason,  "  so  Conscience 


flERS  PLOWMAN.  3^^ 

be  thy  counsellor."  "  I  gladly  grant  that,"  replies  the  king, 
"  God  forbid  he  should  fail.  So  long  as  I  live,  live  we  to- 
gether." Then  the  king  goes  to  church  with  his  knights, 
and  from  there  to  dinner.  At  this  instant  the  poet  awakes, 
and  the  first  vision  ends ;  its  allegory  is  sufficiently  clear. 

The  second  vision  opens  with  a  second  view  of  the  field 
filled  with  people.     This  time  Conscience  stands  in  their 
midst,  a  cross  in  his  hand,  and  exhorts  them  to  penitence ; 
nor  does  he  fail  to  remind  sinners  of  the  plague  and  the  de- 
structive hurricane.     The  efforts  of  Conscience  are  seconded 
by  Repentance.     The  poet  then  arraigns  the  Seven  Deadly 
Sins,  partly  through  colourless  personifications,  partly  through 
concrete  types,  and  makes  them  do  penance.     This  section 
is  full  of  subtle  characterisation  and  cutting  satire.     With  his  ' 
peculiar  art,  Langland  always  rapidly  passes  from  the  ab- 
stract to  the  concrete,  from  allegory  to  reality ;  next  to  sub- 
lime aphorisms  are  traits  taken  from  life,  and  piquantly  real- 
istic.     The  delineation   of  Gluttony,   who  appears  in   the 
guise  of  a  workman  given  to  drink,  is  justly  celebrated  as' 
an  excellent  genre  picture  in  the  manner  of  the  Old  Dutch 
school.     On  the  way  to  church.  Gluttony  is  lured  into  a  tav- 
ern, which  he  leaves  in  the  saddest  condition,  and  the  after- 
nausea  alone  moves  him  to  repentance.     When  the  peniten- 
tial sermon  has  thus  everywhere  attained  its  purpose,  and 
thousands  of  people  have  wept  and  wailed  to  Christ  and  his 
mother,  the  repentant  sinners  take  their  way  to  Saint  Truth. 
But,  who  knows  the  way  ?     After  long  roaming  about,  they 
meet  a  palmer  coming  from  the  Holy  Land.     "  Knowest 
thou  a  saint  whom  men  call  Truth  ?  "  they  ask  him.     "  Nay, 
so  God  help  me.     I  never  saw  a  palmer  seek  after  such  a 
saint  until  this  hour." 

A  plowman  now  steps  forth — it  is  Piers  ^  (Peter) — and  de- 
clares himself  ready  to  show  them  the  way.  That  saint  is 
well-known  to  him,  he  has  worked  for  him,  and  has  received 
rich  pay.  At  the  request  of  the  pilgrims,  from  whom  he  re- 
fuses to  accept  money.  Piers  describes  the  way  they  seek  in 
a  circumstantial  yet  obvious  allegory.  "  This  were  a  wicked 
way  without  a  guide,"  say  the  pilgrims.  Then  speaks  Piers 
the  Plowman :  "  By  Peter  the  apostle,  I  have  an  half-acre 
to  plow  on  the  highway ;  were  that  well  plowed,  I  would  go 

1  Other  forms  of  the  name  are  Pers,  Pierce. 


^ 


\6o        PRELUDE  TO  REFORMATION'  AND  RENAISSANCE. 


with  you  and  teach  the  right  way."  At  the  question  of  a 
noble  lady  as  to  what  the  women  shall  do  in  the  mean  time, 
Piers  prescribes  useful  occupations  and  works  of  love  to  each 
of  them,  according  to  her  station.  To  a  knight  who  offers 
to  help  him  with  his  work,  he  replies  that  it  will  be  sufficient 
if  he  protects  the  holy  church  and  Piers  himself,  hunts  wild 
and  harmful  animals,  and  kindly  treats  the  poor  and  de- 
pendent. It  is  then  described  how  Piers  sets  to  work,  and 
many  pilgrims  help  him,  and  how,  by  the  assistance  of  Hun- 
ger, he  compels  the  idle  who  oppose  his  orders,  in  which 
connection  occurs  a  very  interesting  allegory  concerning  ques- 
tions of  national  economy.  This  is  followed  by  a  prophecy 
of  a  famine. 

In  view  of  this  impending  calamity,  Truth  exhorts  Piers 
to  renewed  labour,  and  grants  him  and  his  heirs  a  full  par- 
don, in  which  all  may  share  who  help  him  work.  A  priest 
wishes  to  see  the  pardon.  Piers  unfolds  the  bull ;  it  contains 
nothing  but  the  words  :  £f  qui  bona  egerunt,  ibunt  i?i  vitam 
eterna7n  ;  qui  vera  mala,  in  igneni  eternum.  "  I  can  find  no 
pardon,"  says  the  priest,  "  that  means  only,  do  well  and  have 
well,  do  evil  and  have  evil."  Full  of  vexation.  Piers  tears 
the  bull,  and  says :  "  I  shall  cease  of  my  sowing,  and  be 
not  so  busy  about  my  livelihood!  Prayer  and  penance 
shall  hereafter  be  my  plow.  .  .  .  Ne  solliciti  sitis,  is  said  in 
the  Gospel.  .  .  .  The  fowls  in  the  field,  who  finds  them 
food  in  the  winter  ?  When  it  freezes,  they  need  food  and 
have  no  garner  to  go  to ;  but  God  provides  for  them  all." 
During  the  dispute  that  ensues  between  Piers  and  the  priest, 
the  poet  wakes  and  finds  himself  without  food  or  money  on 
Malvern  Hills,  the  sun  standing  in  the  south.  Wilham  long 
meditates  on  the  import  of  his  dream,  on  Piers  the  Plowman 
and  his  pardon,  and  on  his  dispute  with  the  priest.  He 
comes  to  the  conclusion  that  Do-well  is  better  than  pardon. 
*'  The  pope,"  he  says,  "  hath  power  to  grant  pardon  to  the 
the  people,  to  let  them  pass  into  joy  without  penance.  This 
is  a  part  of  our  belief,  as  we  are  taught  by  learned  men  : 
Quodciinque  ligaveris  super  terram,  erit  ligatum  et  ifi  coelis. 
And  so  I  honestly  beheve  (the  Lord  forbid  it  else)  that 
pardon  and  penance  and  prayers  do  save  souls  that  have 
sinned  seven  times  deadly.  But  to  trust  to  Triennials  is,  me- 
thinks,  certainly  not  so  safe  for  the  soul  as  is  to  do  well 


PIERS  PLOWMAN.  36 1 

Hence  I  advise  you,  men  that  are  rich  on  earth,  be  ye  never 
the  bolder  to  break  the  Ten  Commandments,  upon  trust  of 
your  treasure  to  procure  Triennials.  And  especially  ye  may- 
ors and  master-judges  that  have  the  wealth  of  this  world, 
and  are  held  wise  to  purchase  your  pardon  and  the  pope's 
bulls :  at  the  dreadful  day  of  doom,  when  the  dead  shall 
rise  and  all  come  before  Christ  to  yield  accounts,  .  .  .  had 
ye  then  a  bag  full  of  pardons  and  provincial  letters,  though 
ye  be  found  in  the  fraternity  among  the  four  orders,  and  have 
indulgences  double-fold,  unless  Do-well  help  you,  I  would 
not  give  for  your  pardon  a  magpie's  tail.  Hence  I  counsel 
all  Christians  to  cry  for  Christ's  mercy,  and  beseech  Mary 
his  mother  to  be  our  intercessor,  that  God  give  us  grace,  ere 
we  go  hence,  such  works  to  do  while  we  be  here,  that  after 
our  death-day,  Do-well  may  rehearse,  at  the  day  of  doom, 
we  did  as  he  commanded." 

Thus  closes  the  Visio  Wilhehni  de  Petro  Plowman^  in  the 
more  limited  sense.  The  rest  of  the  poem  deals  with  the 
problems  suggested  at  the  close  of  the  first  part :  what  is  Do- 
well,  and  what  are  Do-bet  and  Do-best  ?  What  is  virtue  in 
its  different  stages  ? 

In  his  search  for  Do-well,  William,  in  a  vision,  meets  vari- 
ous allegorical  personages,  viz. :  Thought,  Wit,  and  his  wife 
Study,  Clergy  (learning),  who  has  Scripture  to  wife.  By  de- 
grees he  learns,  from  different  points  of  view,  more  concern- 
ing the  dwelling-place  and  nature  of  Do-well,  Do-bet,  and 
Do-best,  and  hears,  by  way  of  episode,  many  discussions  on 
matrimony,  on  the  subtle  questions  and  quibblings  of  theo- 
logians, and  on  the  wealth  of  the  clergy.  But  hesitation  and 
doubt  always  remain  and  raise  new  problems.  William  gets 
into  a  dispute  with  Clergy  on  the  worth  of  knowledge  as 
regards  the  final  goal  of  man,  heaven ;  and  William  is  of 
opinion  that  unlettered  honesty  has  a  better  prospect  of  gain- 
ing everlasting  life  than  Clergy. 

At  about  this  point,  William's  work  upon  his  poem  was 
long  interrupted.  The  fragment  of  a  continuation  ^  still  pre- 
served, though  later  discarded  by  the  poet,  shows  that  he 
was  uncertain  how  to  spin  longer  the  thread  of  his  allegory. 
He  seems  to  have  found  for  its  completion  neither  the  neces- 
sary light  nor  the  necessary  leisure  until  the  year  1377. 

*  Ed.  Skeat,  A- text,  passus  XII.,  p.  137*,  et  seq. 


362    PRELUDE  TO  REFORMATION  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

He  th-oroughly  revised  the  already  existing  portions  of 
his  poem,  as  appears  principally  in  additions,  and  then  he 
carried  further  his  Visio  de  Dowel,  Dobet  et  Dohest  secundum 
Wit  et  Resoim. 

The  nature  of  Do-well  is  revealed  in  three  visions.  Doc- 
trine and  observation,  the  subjective  and  the  objective,  are 
here  so  involved  that  discussion  of  details  in  their  proper 
sequence  would  require  much  space.  The  poet's  purpose 
becomes  most  clear  in  the  portrait  of  Haukin,  a  minstrel 
and  wafer-vender,  who  typifies  active  life,  but  whose  coat  is 
soiled  with  the  dirt-spots  of  the  Seven  Deadly  Sins.  Con- 
science and  Patience  persuade  him  to  consider  his  ways  and 
repent.  We  conceive  the  central  idea  of  Do-well  to  be  up- 
rightness in  all  things,  founded  on  the  fear  of  God. 

Do-bet  is  the  type  of  charity.  Hence,  in  the  first  vision 
of  Do-bet,  we  find  the  poet  speaking  with  Anima  (the  soul), 
who  explains  the  nature  of  charity  on  the  basis  of  the  first 
Epistle  to  the  Corinthians  (Chapter  XHI.),  and  other  pas- 
sages of  Holy  Writ.  When  William  expresses  a  wish  to  know 
Charity,  Anima  answers  that  this  can  only  be  by  the  help  of 
Piers  the  Plowman :  the  clerks  can  only  know  by  means  of 
words  and  works,  but  Piers  can  see  deeper  and  read  the  will. 
Because  Charity  has  gone  out  of  the  world,  because  men  be- 
lieve mere  faith  suffices,  the  world  is  out  of  joint.  Covet- 
ousness  now  rules  all  hearts,  worldly  possessions  have  pois- 
oned the  servants  of  the  church.  "  When  Constantine 
benevolently  endowed  the  holy  church  with  lands  and  people, 
lordships  and  rents,  men  heard  an  angel  cry  loud  at  Rome, 
Dos  ecclesiae  hath  this  day  drunk  venom,  and  all  that  have 
Peter's  power  are  poisoned."  ^ 

In  the  next  vision  WiUiam  sees  the  Tree  of  Charity  itself; 
it  is  supported  by  three  props,  the  three  persons  of  the  God- 
head. Piers  the  Plowman  is  the  gardener  of  the  tree,  and 
explains  its  meaning  to  William.  But  the  apples  that,  at 
William's  wish,  he  shakes  down  from  the  tree,  are  gathered 
by  Satan,  who  takes  them  into  the  limbo  of  hell.  Then 
Piers  calls  upon  the  Son  and  the  Holy  Ghost  to  take  the 
fi"uits  from  the  devil,  and  William,  in  quick  succession,  con- 
templates the  whole  course  of  the  mystery  of  the  incarnation 

1  Compare  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  and  Dante.  ^ 


Vision  of  do-bet.  363 

and  Christ's  life  on  earth,  to  the  moment  when  he  is  betrayed 
by  Judas. 

The  dreamer  wakes  and,  with  anxious  longing,  seeks  Piers 
the  Plowman.  In  a  new  vision  he  meets  Abraham,  who 
represents  faith,  and  Spes  (hope)  who  are  also  looking  for 
Piers.  William  travels  in  their  company  to  Jerusalem ;  on 
the  road  they  see  near  them  a  Samaritan  riding  the  same 
way.  They  soon  find  a  wounded  man  lying  on  the  wayside. 
Faith  and  Hope  pass  by  but  the  Samaritan  takes  pity  on 
him,  cares  for  him,  and  bears  him  to  an  inn  called  Lex 
Christi.  William  offers  to  become  the  Samaritan's  servant. 
The  latter  declines,  saying  :  "  Many  thanks  !  but  thy  friend 
and  thy  fellow  thou  shalt  find  me  at  need."  In  farther  con- 
versation the  Samaritan  instructs  William  in  the  deepest 
mysteries  of  faith,  and  tells  him  how  he  shall  unite  faith  and 
charity. 

The  last  vision  of  Do-bet  represents  Christ's  entrance  into 
Jerusalem,  his  crucifixion  and  his  death.  Christ,  in  whom 
the  idea  of  Do-bet,  or  of  charity,  is  completely  realised,  ap- 
pears in  the  armour  of  Piers  the  Plowman ;  that  is,  in  human 
nature.  We  are  present  at  the  struggle  between  Life  and 
Death,  between  Light  and  Darkness,  and,  when  Christ  lies 
in  the  tomb,  we  hear  the  dispute  between  Truth  and  Mercy, 
Righteousness  and  Peace.  Then  comes  an  account  of 
Christ's  descent  into  hell  and  his  triumph  over  Satan,  accord- 
ing to  the  gospel  of  Nicodemus.  The  evil  spirits  hide  them- 
selves ;  there  is  a  sound  of  angels  singing  and  playing  on 
harps;  Truth,  Peace,  and  Righteousness  embrace  and  kiss 
each  other ;  Truth  strikes  up  a  7^  deum  laitdamus,  and  Love 
sings  to  it,  Ecce  quam  boniini  et  jucimdiim  frati'es  habitare  i?t 
unwn.  Then  the  dreamer  wakes  at  the  ringing  of  the  Eas- 
ter bells,  and  calling  wife  and  daughter,  bids  them  "  Rise 
and  reverence  God's  resurrection,  and  creep  to  the  cross  on 
your  knees,  and  kiss  it  as  a  jewel;  God's  blessed  body  it 
bore  for  our  salvation,  and  it  frighteth  the  fiend ;  for  such 
is  its  might  that  no  grisly  ghost  may  glide  where  it  shad- 
oweth." 

Mankind  is  redeemed,  and  death  overcome  by  love ;  but 
in  order  that  the  fruits  of  this  victory  may  benefit  man,  the 
intervention  of  Do-best  is  requisite,  typifying  the  consumma- 
tion of  the  good  in  the  power  of  Christ,  the  efiicacy  of  the 


364        PRELUDE  TO  REFORMATION  AND  RENAISSANCE. 

church,  whose  soul  is  Christ,  and  whose  servants  above  all 
need  the  virtue  of  self-denying  humility.  Hence  the  last 
two  visions  of  the  poem  relate  the  history  of  the  church  from 
the  first  Whitsuntide.  Grace  makes  Piers  his  plowman, 
and  gives  him  four  oxen,  the  evangelists,  four  stots,  the  great 
Latin  church  fathers,  and  four  seeds,  the  cardinal  virtues. 

Thereupon  Piers  builds  the  house  of  Unity,  the  holy 
church,  receives  from  Grace  a  cart  called  Christendom,  on 
which  to  load  his  sheaves,  and  two  horses  for  his  cart :  Con- 
trition and  Confession.  Priesthood  is  made  field-guard, 
while  Grace  goes  with  Piers  as  far  as  the  world  reaches,  to 
sow  truth.  Pride  prepares  to  attack  the  Christians,  and 
Conscience  bids  them  all  seek  refuge  in  the  house  of  Unity. 

Antichrist  appears,  tears  up  all  the  crop  of  truth  and 
plants  weeds.  The  friars  show  him  honour;  hundreds  fol- 
low his  banner,  borne  by  Pride.  Conscience  calls  Nature 
to  help,  and  she  sends  out  devastating  diseases;  Death 
strides  about  with  Age  in  the  van  as  standard-bearer;  kings 
and  knights,  emperors  and  popes,  are  stricken  to  the  dust. 
In  answer  to  the  prayer  of  Conscience,  Nature  pauses  to 
give  men  time  to  grow  better.  Then  Fortune  and  Lechery, 
Avarice  and  Simony,  immediately  resume  their  work.  Fort- 
une is  married  to  Life,  and  bears  him  Sloth,  who  weds  De- 
spair, and  the  two  oppress  Conscience.  Conscience  calls 
upon  Age  for  help.  Age  struggles  with  Life,  who  flees  to 
physicians ;  when  he  sees  that  death  does  not  fear  these,  he 
gives  himself  up  to  Revel.  But  now  the  poet,  too,  is  seized  by 
Age,  is  robbed  of  his  hearing,  his  teeth,  and  the  free  use  of 
his  limbs.  He  perceives  the  approach  of  Death,  and  takes 
refuge  in  the  house  of  Unity. 

Thus  we  find  William,  with  Christianity,  in  the  fortress 
whose  constable  is  Conscience.  It  is  beleaguered  by  seven 
giants  (the  deadly  sins),  who  serve  the  cause  of  Antichrist, 
and  by  their  confederates.  Envy  and  Hypocrisy  are  es- 
pecially dangerous.  Those  wounded  by  Hypocrisy  are 
healed  by  Shrift,  but  they  long  for  a  gentler  physician. 
They  ask  for  Flatterer,  a  friar,  and  Conscience  is  weak 
enough  to  give  him  entrance.  Brother  Flatterer  is  to  heal 
Contrition,  and  is  so  successful  that  his  patient  forgets  how 
to  cry  and  weep,  and  sinks  into  a  deep  slumber.  Sloth  and 
Pride  open  a  fresh  attack.     Conscience  in  vain  calls  upon 


MEANING  OF  PIERS  PLOWMAN.  365 

Contrition  for  aid ;  the  physic  of  Brother  Flatterer  is  show- 
ing its  power.  Conscience  cries :  "  By  Christ !  I  will  become 
a  pilgrim,  and  walk  as  wide  as  the  world  stretcheth  to  seek 
Piers  Plowman,  that  he  may  destroy  Pride.  .  .  .  Now  Na- 
ture avenge  me,  and  send  me  good  hap  and  safety,  till  I 
have  Piers  the  Plowman."  "  And  he  wept  for  Grace  till  I 
awoke." 

Thus  close  the  visions  of  William — in  deep  distress  and  ia 
anxious  waiting.  The  last  words  of  the  poem  sound  like  a 
note  of  despair,  a  wail  from  the  Teutonic  conscience  feeling 
the  gulf  between  the  ideal  and  the  real.  From  such  anguish 
of  conscience,  at  a  later  time,  was  born  the  German  refor- 
mation. 

The  question  that  first  presents  itself.  Who  or  what  is  Piers 
Plowman  ?  is  almost  as  hard  to  answer  as  that  more  fre- 
quently put :  What  is  the  Dantean  Veltro  ? 

Piers  Plowman  is  clearly  the  deliverer  from  the  bondage 
of  sin,  error,  and  death ;  and  hence,  as  is  seen  in  the  Vita 
de  JDobet,  when  disclosing  the  highest  meaning  of  his  being, 
he  represents  human  nature  united  in  Christ  with  the  God- 
head. In  Do-best  he  stands  for  the  office  of  teacher  and 
judge,  conferred  upon  the  church  by  Christ,  for  the  church 
itself,  so  far  as  Christ  really  lives  and  works  in  her,  for  the 
ideal  church  as  opposed  to  the  visible.  Piers  Plowman  seems 
to  signify  nearly  the  same  at  his  first  appearance ;  but  then 
the  individual  and  human  side  of  his  nature  is  more  con- 
spicuous. Piers  there  may  be  said  to  typify  human  nature 
as  blessed  with  divine  grace,  hearing  God's  voice  in  its  con- 
science, and  fulfilling  its  life-task  in  the  simplicity  of  faith, 
and  in  good  works. 

The  name  of  the  hero  has  reference  to  the  first  epistle  to 
the  Corinthians  (X.  4),  where  there  is  mention  of  the  spiritual 
rock  from  which  the  Israelites,  led  by  Moses,  drank,  "  and 
that  Rock  was  Christ."  Petrus  id  est  christiis  stands  also  in 
our  text  (B.  XV.,  206).  Piers's  calling  as  husbandman  is  ex- 
plained in  the  allegory  in  Do-best.  It  is  moreover  clear  how 
the  choice  of  a  station  so  humble  and  worthy  and  so  often 
despised,  must  in  other  respects  also  have  seemed  fitting  to 
the  poet  for  his  hero. 

Piers  Plowman  is  one  of  those  poems  that  embody  the 
labour  of  a  lifetime.     Langland  again  returned  in  his  later 


^66        PRELUDE  TO  REFORMATION  AND  RENAI  SSANCE. 

life  (in  1393)  to  his  work,  to  revise  it  anew.  The  result  is 
a  text  often  expanded  in  detail,  and  in  which  some  passages 
have  changed  position,  many  inequalities  have  been  removed, 
many  a  harshness  softened,  but  in  which  the  vigour  of  style 
has  sometimes  been  weakened. 

In  the  intervals  of  the  three  revisions,  there  passed  an 
eventful  and  most  stirring  period ;  and  while  the  poem  itself 
was  not  without  influence  upon  events — of  this  we  shall 
speak  later — it  mirrors,  as  well,  many  a  phase  of  their  de- 
velopment. 

An  animal  fable,  inserted  in  the  prologue  of  the  middle- 
text,  reminds  us  of  the  early  part  of  Richard  II. 's  reign,  and 
of  the  wide-spread  discontent  regarding  the  influence  upon 
him  of  his  uncle,  John  of  Gaunt.  The  quick  decline  of  the 
king's  popularity,  dating  from  about  1392,  appears  in  the 
words  addressed  to  the  king  by  Langland  in  the  latest  text, 
(IV.,  208,  et  seq.) :  "  Unseemly  forbearance,  sister  to  bribery, 
and  this  itself  have  almost  brought  it  about,  if  Mary  does 
not  help  thee,  that  no  land  loves  thee,  and  least  of  all  thine 
own." 

The  progress  of  religious  agitation  is  also  reflected  in  the 
growth  of  the  poem.  It  is  significant  that,  in  the  middle 
text,  passages  increase  that  point  prophetically  to  the  future, 
whether  they  foretell  a  kingdom  of  peace  or  a  reformation 
of  the  clerical  orders  by  an  energetic  king.  The  following 
remarkable  lines  are  well-known :  ^  "  But  there  shall  come  a 
king,  and  confess  you  religiouses,  and  beat  you  as  the  Bible 
telleth  for  breaking  of  your  rule ;  .  .  .  .  then  shall  the  ab- 
bot of  Abingdon,  and  all  his  issue  forever,  have  a  knock  of 
a  king,  and  incurable  the  wound." 

Here  the  query  arises  as  to  Langland's  attitude  toward 
Wiclif  and  the  tendency  he  represented. 

In  all  practical  questions,  Langland  and  Wiclif  were  of 
the  same  opinion.  We  find  in  both  the  same  main  ethical 
purpose,  the  same  wrath  at  the  moral  decay  of  the  church, 
at  the  covetousness  of  the  clergy,  and  the  life  led  by  the 
friars,  pardoners,  and  pilgrims.  Both  distinguish  between 
the  church  of  Christ  and  its  outward  form  in  the  hierarchy. 
Many  favourite  ideas,  images,  and  allusions  are  common  to 
both ;  Wiclif  may  have  borrowed  some  of  them  from  Lang- 

>  B.  X.,  317,  et  seq. 


LANGLAND  AND  WICLIF.  367 

land.  Tlie  great  difference  between  them,  despite  this,  re- 
mains in  the  fact  that  Langland  nowhere  utters  an  opinion 
decidedly  antagonistic  to  Catholic  doctrine,  as  it  then  was. 
With  all  his  boldness  he  has  a  conservatism  that  grows  with 
his  years,  a  certain  caution  that  at  times  prevents  him  from 
speaking  the  last  word,  or  from  forming  a  definite  conclusion. 
He  always  shows  great  regard  for  the  papacy;  he  denies 
none  of  its  prerogatives,  even  though  he  deems  it  safer  to 
base  his  salvation  on  Do-well  than  on  a  papal  pardon. 

Nevertheless,  Langland's  work  was  that  of  a  reformer; 
and  the  English  reformers  of  the  sixteenth  century  were  right 
when  they  saw  in  him  a  forerunner. 

The  Puritan  element,  which  was  destined  to  impress  itself 
so  powerfully  upon  English  life  and  literature  in  the  seven- 
teenth century,  broke  forth  for  the  first  time  in  Langland. 
One  of  the  greatest  in  the  majestic  line  of  English  poets 
whose  muse  was  inspired  by  the  highest  interests  of  man, 
those  of  rehgion,  he  was  the  worthy  predecessor  of  a  Milton. 
He  hardly  equals,  in  purely  poetical  talent,  and  still  less  in 
artistic  gift  the  author  of  Gawaytie.  He  shows  the  true 
power  of  plastic  creation  only  in  genre-painting.  But  he 
excels  him  in  breadth  of  view,  in  fulness  and  depth  of 
thought,  and  in  power  of  pathos.  Out  of  somewhat  ruder 
materials,  he  created  a  style  whose  dignity,  vigour,  and  na- 
tional spirit,  endure  beside  the  more  perfect  art  of  later  and 
greater  poets. 


i 


APPENDIX. 


i 


A.— (BOOK  I.,  CHAPTER  IV.,  VIII). 

THE   POEMS   ASCRIBED   TO    CAEDMON. 

I  do  not  intend,  in  this  place,  to  discuss  at  any  length  the 
legend  of  Caedmon,  as  reported  by  Bede.  I  would  say  on 
the  subject  merely  this:  i.  There  is  no  reasonable  ground 
for  doubting  that  an  individual  of  the  name  of  Caedmon  really 
lived  at  Streoneshalh,  in  the  time  of  the  abbess  Hild.  2.  We 
may  take  it  for  granted  that  this  Caedmon  actually  composed 
a  large  amount  of  religious  poetry  on  the  subjects  mentioned 
by  Bede.  3.  There  is  no  reason  whatever  to  disbelieve 
Bede's  statement  that  Caedmon,  before  entering  the  cloister, 
was  a  layman  with  no  literary  education.  4.  We  may  even 
go  so  far  as  to  admit  that  Caedmon  was  not  known  to  have 
composed,  nor  even  recited,  any  songs  before  a  rather  ad- 
vanced period  of  his  life ;  that  his  poetical  talent  was  first 
stirred  by  a  religious  impulse ;  and  that,  soon  after  it  had 
manifested  itself,  Caedmon  turned  monk.  5.  We  may  safely 
assume  that  Bede  had  read  at  least  some  of  Caedmon's  poems, 
and  that  in  his  account  of  the  poet  he  gave  a  pretty  faithful 
translation  of  the  hymn  said  to  be  Caedmon's  very  first  at- 
tempt, and  most  probably  being,  to  say  the  least,  one  of  his 
earliest  works. 

There,  then,  remains  the  question.  What  theory  is  to  be 
held  as  to  the  English  poems  that  have  been  ascribed  to 
Caedmon  ?  Let  us  first  consider  the  Old  Northumbrian  text 
of  the  "  hymn,"  preserved  at  the  end  of  a  MS.  of  Bede's 
Ecclesiastical  History ,  and  in  the  main  agreeing  with  the  ver- 
sion given  by  Aelfred  in  his  translation  of  Bede's  work. 

I.  It  is  well  known  that  in  1705  Wanley  pubhshed  the 
Northumbrian  lines  in  question,  in  his  Catalogus,  p.  287, 
designating  them  as  "  canticum  illud  Saxonicuni  Caedmonis  a 
ßcsäa  .  .  .   memoratum"  and  as  "■omnium  quae  in  nostra 


372 


APPENDIX. 


Hfigua  etiammim  extent  7noiiumentorum  pene  vetusfissimumy 
From  that  time  to  the  present  day,  the  opinion  prevalent 
among  scholars  not  unacquainted  with  this  part  of  Wanley's 
Catalogue,  \\2iS  been  that  in  them  we  have  "  the  exact  words," 
or  nearly  so,  "  of  the  poet."  ^  The  early  date  of  the  hand- 
writing in  which  they  have  come  down  to  us,  though  strongly 
questioned  by  Conybeare  (see  Illustrations,  p.  6,  note  2),  as 
well  as  their  close  agreement  with  Bede's  translation,  seemed 
to  exclude  any  reasonable  doubt.  A  it\N  years  ago,  how- 
ever, Prof  R.  Wülcker  in  an  essay  Ueber  de7i  hy?n?ius  Caed- 
nions,  published  in  Beiti'äge  zur  Geschichte  der  deutschen 
Sprache  und  Literatur,  III.  pp.  348-357,  attempted  to  show 
that  the  claimed  authenticity  of  the  Northumbrian  poem  was 
not  only  doubtful,  but  highly  improbable,  nay  impossible. 
Through  the  author's  kindness  this  article  reached  me  when 
the  original  ]\IS.  of  the  present  volume  was  finished,  but  the 
printing  had  not  yet  begun.  A  careful  perusal  of  the  paper 
soon  convinced  me  that  Prof.  Wiilcker's  arguments  could 
easily  be  refuted,  and  in  pondering  the  matter  anew,  fresh 
evidence  seemed  to  me  to  arise  for  the  genuineness  of  the 
hymn.  I,  therefore,  left  unchanged  what  I  had  written,  re- 
serving the  task  of  refuting  the  Professor's  opinion  for  a 
special  article.  To  my  great  pleasure,  however,  this  task 
was  taken  from  me  by  Prof.  Zupitza,  whose  excellent  essay 
on  Caedmon's  Hymn,  published  in  the  Zeitschrift  für  deutsches 
Alterthum,  XXII.  p.  210,  et  seq.,  contained  the  greater  part 
of  what  I  had  meant  to  say  on  the  subject,  together  with 
some  things  I  should  probably  have  left  unsaid.  This  being 
the  case,  I  shall  merely  indicate  the  chief  points  of  the  ques- 
tion, referring  the  reader  for  more  ample  information  to  Prof. 
Zupitza's  essay. 

The  main  force  of  Wülcker's  argument  lies  in  the  following 
syllogism :  According  to  Bede's  own  statement,  his  Latin 
translation  of  Caedmon's  hymn  gives  only  the  sense,  not  the 
order  of  words  of  the  original.  Now  the  Northumbrian 
poem  agrees  so  closely  with  the  Latin  version  that,  suppos- 
ing it  to  be  its  original,  that  version  would  have  been  a  very 
faithful,  not  at  all  a  free  one.  Eigo,  the  Northumbrian  poem 
cannot  be  looked  upon  as  the  original  in  question. 

In  answer  to  this  argument  many  things  might  be  said. 

*  Henry  Sweet  in  Warton-Hazlitt,  U.,  p.  15. 


WÜLCKER's  ARGUMENT.  ;^J ^ 

It  might  be  hinted,  that  a  translator's  excuse  for  not  render- 
ing all  tlie  beauties  of  his  original  should  never  be  taken  too 
literally.  Moreover,  attention  might  be  called  to  the  fact 
that  (setting  aside  the  omission  of  some  epithets,  which  did 
not  escape  Wiilcker's  attention)  the  order  of  the  words  in 
Bede's  translation  does,  after  all,  in  many  instances  diverge 
from  the  original.  Prof  Wiilcker,  it  is  true,  has  tried  to 
show  that  it  would  have  been  easy  for  Bede  to  follow  more 
closely  the  Northumbrian  text,  without  spoiling  his  Latin ; 
but  if  this  must  be  granted  with  regard  to  the  beginning,  I 
absolutely  deny  it  with  regard  to  the  latter  part  of  the  poem. 
I  for  one  confess  my  inability  to  imagine  any  form  of  the 
original  poem  to  which  Wiilcker's  argument  might  not  have 
been  apphed  with  the  same  propriety,  as  to  the  form  that 
has  come  down  to  us.  But  the  chief  point  is  that  put  for- 
ward by  Prof  Zupitza,  to  wit,  that  the  expression  orda  ipse 
verboru77i,  in  Bede,  undoubtedly  means  "  arrangement  of 
speech  "  in  a  wider  sense,  including  rhythm,  alliteration,  and 
parallelism  of  synonymous  phrases. 

Respecting  the  age  of  the  handwriting  in  which  the  North- 
umbrian lines  have  been  preserved.  Prof  Wiilcker  is  inclined 
to  trust  to  Conybeare's  impression  of  it,  who  thinks  it  "  the 
work  of  the  eleventh  or  twelfth  century,  and  of  an  inexpe- 
rienced scribe ;  "  but  how  little  Conybeare's  authority  is  to 
be  relied  on  in  this  question,  may  be  seen  in  Zupitza's 
essay. 

Prof  Wiilcker  then  attempts  to  show  that  the  language 
and  orthography  do  not  point  to  a  period  anterior  to  the 
tenth  or  the  beginning  of  the  following  century.  Here  is  his 
greatest  failure :  for  a  comparison  of  the  hymn  with  the  earli- 
est known  monuments  of  the  English  language  yields  evi- 
dence that  it  belongs  to  the  same  period.  Many  of  its 
orthographic  peculiarities,  it  is  true,  occur  also  in  Northum- 
brian texts  of  later  date;  but  the  consistency  with  which 
some  of  them  are  carried  out, — as  in  the  case  of  the  final  i 
in  mcecti^  eci,  the  ce  in  the  genitive  ending  ces  and  in  the  pret- 
erit tiddce,  the  a  for  ea  in  imrd,  barnutn  (as  for  middtmgeard, 
cf.  Anglia,  I.  p.  522),  the  ct  for  ht,  etc. — together  with  such 
forms  dJifadtir^astelidcB,  is  irresistible  evidence  of  the  poem's 
early  origin.  Add  to  this  the  fact  that  in  the  nine  long  lines 
making  up  the  hymn  not  a  single  form  can  be  pointed  out 


374  APPENDIX. 

that  we  should  not  expect  to  find  in  a  text  written  down  in 
the  first  half  of  the  eighth  century;  whereas  in  any  equal 
portion  of  writing  belonging  to  later  centuries,  I  could  easily 
show  at  least  half  a  dozen. 

Finally,  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  the  poem  we  presume 
to  call  Caedmon's  hymn  was  regarded  as  such  by  King 
Aelfred,  not  only  because  he  reproduced  it,  with  only  sHght 
variations,  in  his  translation  of  Bede's  Ecclesiastical  History^ 
but  chiefly  on  account  of  the  way  in  which  he  introduces  its 
quotation.  The  passage  Hie  est  se?isus,  no?i  aiitem  ordo 
verborum,  etc.,  following  the  Latin  version  in  Bede,  is,  of 
course,  left  out  by  him ;  but  there  is  a  clear  allusion  to  it  in 
his  rendering  of  the  phrase  of  Bede  preceding  the  quotation  : 
Quoriwi  iste  est  seiisiis — \ära  endebyrdnes  \is  is  ;  efidebyrdfies 
meaning  precisely  07'do^  not  se?isus.  According  to  Wiilcker, 
Aelfred  meant  simply  to  say  something  like,  ''  They  run  as 
follows ; "  but  this  explanation  of  the  king's  words  is  alto- 
gether inadmissible.^  Granted  that  upon  ordinary  occasions 
Aelfred,  even  when  about  to  quote  only  a  translation  or 
merely  the  general  tenor  of  somebody's  speech,  77iig}it  have 
written,  "  This  is  the  succession  "  (or  "  order  ")  "of  his  words ;  " 
I  maintain  that  he  could  not  have  written  thus  in  the  present 
case,  with  Bede's  text  before  him.  Supposing  him  not  to 
have  been  convinced  that  he  was  giving  the  very  words  of 
Caedmon,  why,  for  instance,  should  he  not  have  used,  instead 
of  e?idebyrd?2es,  such  words  as  a?tdgit  or  '\poht  ? 

II.  I  come  to  the  poems  contained  in  the  Bodleian  MS. 
Jun.  XL,  and  ascribed  to  Caedmon  by  Junius.  Hickes,  it 
will  be  remembered,  was  the  first  to  question  their  authen- 
ticity, and  from  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century 
down  to  our  own  times,  the  learned  author  of  the  Thesau?'us 
has  found  many  followers  as  well  as  adversaries  of  his  opinion ; 
the  former,  however,  as  time  went  on,  prevailing  more  and 
more  over  the  latter.  It  is  not  my  intention  to  enter  upon 
the  details  of  this  literary  war  waged  with  alternating  success ; 
especially  as  the  arguments  used  on  both  sides,  till  a  very 
recent  epoch,  did  not  denote  any  great  insight  into  the  means 
with  which  such  a  question  as  this  could  be  brought  to  issue. 
A  favourite  topic  of  discussion,  among  others,  was  this, 
whether  the  agreement  between  the  beginning  of  the  Old 

*  Compare  Zupitza,  1.  c.  p.  218. 


CAEDMON  AND  THE  GENESIS. 


375 


English  Genesis  and  Caedmon's  hymn,  as  given  in  Bede,  was 
such  as  to  warrant  the  ascribing  of  the  former  to  our  poet. 
Nearly  all  the  writers  who  discussed  this  subject  seem  to 
have  argued  upon  the  supposition  that  the  hymn  sung  by 
Caedmon  in  his  dream  was  afterwards  incorporated  by  him 
into  his  poetical  version  of  the  book  of  Genesis.  Even  Mr. 
Sweet,  in  his  able  Sketch  of  the  History  of  Anglo-Saxon 
Poetry ^^  says,  "  We  may  have  in  the  earlier  lines  the  rough 
draft,  which  appears  in  the  later  MS.  in  a  revised  and  ex- 
panded form."  Now  the  truth  is  that  in  Bede  there  is  not 
a  single  word  to  be  found  to  the  effect  that  the  hymn  he 
translates  into  Latin  is  to  be  regarded  as  the  beginning,  or 
in  any  way  as  part,  of  Caedmon's  later  Genesis-poem.  He 
says,  it  is  true,  that  Caedmon  upon  awaking  remembered  the 
words  he  had  sung  in  his  dream,  and  added  to  them  many 
more  in  the  same  style.  But  this,  according  to  Bede's  ac- 
count, happened  before  the  poet  had  entered  the  convent, 
and  before  the  "  series  of  Scripture-history  "  had  been  ex- 
pounded to  him.  When  speaking  of  Caedmon's  Bible-poetry, 
the  historian  says  nothing  whatever  to  remind  us  of  the  poet's 
first  essay.  The  question,  therefore,  whether  the  agreement 
between  the  opening  lines  of  the  Genesis-poem  and  Caed- 
mon's hymn  be  more  or  less  striking,  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  question  of  the  authorship  of  the  so-called  Caedmonian 
poems.  Caedmon  may  more  or  less  have  repeated  himself, 
or  another  poet  may  have  more  or  less  imitated  him.  What 
critic  will  be  so  confident  as  to  decide  which  of  the  two 
actually  happened,  considering  that  the  object  of  imitation, 
so  far  as  preserved,  consists  of  only  nine  lines,  not  distin- 
guished by  any  high  poetical  merit  ? 

Before,  however,  putting  the  question  whether  the  poems 
contained  in  the  Junian  MS.  were  composed  by  Caedmon 
or  not,  an  accurate  examination  and  analysis  of  the  same 
should  be  first  attempted.  Are  the  entire  contents  of  the 
MS.  to  be  ascribed  to  a  single  poet  ?  If  not,  how  many 
hands  or  minds  are  to  be  distinguished  in  them  ? 

Now  the  most  superficial  examination  shows  at  once  that 
the  so-called  "second  part  of  Caedmon,"  containing  the 
New  Testament  poems,  is  widely  different  from  the  first,  as 
well  in  manner  and  style  as  in  metrical  and  linguistic  pecul- 

»  See  Warton-HazUtt,  II.  p.  15. 


376  APPENDIX. 

iarities.  This  difference  is,  indeed,  so  obvious  that  the  only 
thing  to  be  wondered  at  is  that  it  escaped  the  acute  and 
learned  Junius.  It  was  remarked  by  Hickes;  it  was  more 
clearly  seen  by  Thorpe.  Bouterwek,  in  the  introduction  to 
his  edition,  p.  ccxxxiv.,  insisted  on  the  dialectical  varieties 
between  the  two  parts,  and  gave  a  list  of  what  seemed  to 
him  the  chief  phonetic,  and  some  inflectional  peculiarities  of 
the  second.  It  must  be  said,  however,  that,  strictly  speak- 
ing, the  only  inference  to  be  drawn  from  such  discrepancies 
as  those  remarked  by  Bouterwek  would  be  that  the  scribe 
who  copied  the  second  part  ^  either  himself  belonged  to,  or 
used  a  MS.  written  in,  a  district  having  a  different  dialect 
from  the  first  part,  and  that  possibly  both  causes  worked  to- 
gether. But  fresh  evidence,  whether  merely  touched  upon 
or  expanded,  has  been  produced  since,^  the  substance  of 
which,  together  with  some  new  matter,  I  have  worked  into 
the  characterisation  of  the  poems  making  up  the  "  second 
part,"  in  the  eighth  chapter  of  my  first  book.  There  can 
hardly  remain  any  doubt  that  these  poems  belong  to  a  much 
later  period  than  the  Old  Testament  poems  contained  in  the 
same  MS. 

To  close  at  once  with  the  "  second  part,"  I  observe  that 
the  first  to  see  that  it  really  consisted  of  three  different  poems, 
or  fragments  of  poems,  most  probably  having  different  au- 
thors, was  Dr.  Max  Rieger. 

III.  A  more  accurate  analysis  of  the  first  part  was  given 
in  i860,  by  Dr.  Ernst  Götzinger,  in  a  dissertation  bearing 
the  rather  odd  title :  Ueber  die  Dichtungen  des  Angelsachsen 
Caedmon  und  dere?i  Verfasser  (Göttingen).  By  a  compari- 
son of  the  composition,  style,  and  phraseology  of  the  three 
poems.  Dr.  Götzinger  shows  that  the  paraphrases  of  the 
books  of  Genesis,  Exodus,  and  Daniel  must  be  ascribed  to 
three  different  authors.  His  phonological  observations  are 
of  less  consequence ;  but  most  unhappy  is  the  inference  he 
draws  from  them,  as  well  as  firom  the  variations  in  phraseol- 
ogy, with  respect  to  the  age  of  the  Genesis-poem,  which  he 
thinks  to  be  of  later  date  than  the  two  other  paraphrases. 

•  The  handwriting  of  the  second  part  is  another  and  more  negligent  one  than  that 
of  the  first. 

2  I  chiefly  refer  to  the  brief  characterisation  in  Dietrich's  essay  Zu  Caedjnon, 
published  in  the  Zeitschrift  fur  deutsches  Alterthum,  X.,  p.  311 ;  to  the  metrical  ob- 
servations in  various  passages  of  Dr.  Rieger's  treatise  on  Alt-  U7id  Angc'säcJisiscfi^ 
Verskunst ;  and  to  the  remarks  on  the  style  and  manner  of  the  poems  in  Heinzel's 
essay  Ueber  den  Stil  der  alt^crrnanischcn  Poesie,  Strassburg  and  London,  1875. 


THE  HELIAND  AND  THE  GENESIS.  377 

As  for  the  rest,  Dr.  Götzinger  does  not  see  the  necessity 
of  conceding  interpolations  in  any  of  the  three  poems,  though 
such  had  aheady  been  assumed  by  earUer  critics,  notably 
by  Bouterwek,  in  his  edition  of  Caedmon,  I.,  p.  cxl.,  and  by 
Dietrich,  Zeitschrift  für  deutsches  Alterthtim,  X.,  p.  310. 

IV.  Dietrich's  brief  remark  concerning  the  interpolator 
shows  that  he  fully  appreciated  some  of  the  chief  pecuHar- 
ities  in  the  manner  of  the  poet  who  wrote  v.  235-851  of 
Genesis^  and  that  he  had  a  tolerably  clear  notion  of  the  por- 
tion of  that  poem  to  be  ascribed  to  him.^  But  the  first  ex- 
actly to  determine  the  beginning  as  well  as  the  end  of  the 
episode,  and  to  show  that  it  formed  part  of  an  originally  in- 
dependent poem,  differing  in  manner,  style,  metre,  and  lan- 
guage from  the  bulk  of  the  Genesis-poem,  was  Prof  E. 
Sievers  in  his  essay.  Der  Heliand  und  die  angelsächsische 
Genesis,  Halle,  1875.^  The  most  interesting  part,  however, 
in  Prof  Sievers's  essay  is  the  discovery  that  in  all  these  re- 
spects the  episode,  while  standing  alone  in  Old  English 
poetry,  is  most  nearly  related  to  the  Old  Saxon  Heliafid. 
This  relation  appears  very  strikingly  in  the  language  and  dic- 
tion. Many  formulas  are  to  be  found  in  the  episode  which, 
occurring  either  very  rarely  or  not  at  all,  in  other  Old  Eng- 
lish poems,  are  frequently  employed  in  the  Heliand.  There 
are  even  a  few  words  or  word-combinations — such  as  wcBr, 
wczrlice  (for  ^^ö,  so^lice),  strih  (for  sacu\  the  preterit  bedrog=. 
"  deceived,"  the  use  of  swd  hwd  swd  and  swd  hwcet  sivd^ — 
which  must  be  pronounced  quite  un-English,  but  very  good 
Old  Saxon.  From  this  Prof  Sievers  infers  that  the  poem  to 
which  our  episode  formerly  belonged  was  originally  written 
in  Old  Saxon,  by  the  author  of  the  Heliand;  that  an  Eng- 
lishman who  had  learned  German  in  Germany  translated  it 
into  his  own  language,  somewhat  expanding  and  enlarging 
it ;  and  that  this  translation,  having  lost  its  latter  part,  was, 
in  the  course  of  the  tenth  century,  interpolated  in  a  more  ex- 
tensive Genesis-poem,  of  English  growth.  As  may  be  seen 
from  the  eighth  chapter  of  my  first  book,  these  conclusions, 
from  the  first,  did  not  strike  me  as  inevitable.     Nor  has  my 

1  He  says  that  the  interpolator's  writing  is  more  diffuse  than  that  of  the  earHer  poet, 
but  that  he  displays  poetical  power,  at  least  in  the  exposition  of  characters,  as  may  be 
seen  in  his  portrayal  of  Satan,  and  in  the  temptation-scene. 

2  Sievers  also  showed  that  the  author  of  the  episode  largely  drew  from  the  I^lm 
poem  De  o?-igme  mundi,  by  Avitus. 

'  Observe  also  such  a  form  as  gettg  for  geöng. 


375  APPE^^)IX. 

opinion  been  altered  since  writing  that  chapter,  notwithstand 
ing  a  certain  amount  of  new  matter  with  which  Prof.  Sievers, 
in  his  edition  of  the  Heliand,  has  tried  to  strengthen  his  argu- 
ment. No  doubt,  an  EngUshman,  having  Uved,  perhaps  still 
living,  in  Germany,  and  translating  an  Old  Saxon  work  into 
English,  might  easily  be  induced,  by  the  great  affinity  of  the 
two  idioms,  to  adopt  from  his  original  some  words  and 
phrases  unknown  to  his  own  language.  But  is  it  probable 
that,  while  on  the  whole  writing  in  Good  English  (though 
employing  many  new  formulas),  it  would  have  escaped  him 
that  an  Englishman  did  not  say  wcer  (Old  Saxon  war),  but 
so'6  :  not  stn"^,  but  sacu  ?  I  repeat  that,  supposing  Sievers's 
theory  to  be  true,  we  must  expect  to  find  in  the  fragment 
either  a  greater  number  of  purely  un-English  terms,  or  none 
at  all  of  this  grievous  kind.  If  it  is  a  translation,  we  must 
expect,  too,  to  meet  with  some  cases  where,  in  consequence 
of  the  lines  being  turned  into  another  idiom,  the  alliteration 
has  been  obliterated.  Now,  though  we  may  point  out  some 
instances  in  which,  by  translating  the  formulas  used  into  Old 
Saxon,  we  get  two  "  staves  "  in  the  first  half-line,  instead  of 
but  one,  there  is  not  a  single  instance  where  alliteration  is 
entirely  wanting,  or  where  its  laws  are  in  any  way  violated, 
in  consequence  of  the  foreign  formulas  employed  by  the  poet. 
Sievers,  it  is  true,  says,  on  p.  14,  that  in  v.  540  the  allitera- 
tion has  been  destroyed  by  turning  the  well-known  Old  Sax- 
on formula  tecaii  gitogian  into  the  English  tdce?i  o'^iewan  ; 
but  if  the  English  formula,  as  such,  lacks  alliteration,  the  line 
in  which  it  occurs  is  construed  in  perfect  harmony  with  the 
laws  of  alliterative  measure : 

n6  J)ü  me  oöz/west  ^^nig  tacen.' 
It  will  be  evident  to  every  reader  of  Dr.  Rieger's  treatise 
on  Old  Saxon  and  Anglo-Saxon  versification  that  by  ex- 
changing the  verb  o^iewan,  in  this  line,  for  the  Old  Saxon 
gitogian,  the  alliteration  would  be  spoiled.^  If  we,  there- 
fore, admit  Sievers's  supposition,  we  must  further  concede 
either  that  the  Enghsh  translator  transposed  the  order  of 
words  in  the  second  half-line,  or  that  by  being  turned  into 

1  Compare  Cynewulf 's  Christ,  V.  839. 

J)2br  bio  oö^wed  egsa  raara, 

2  The  rhyming  letter  being  t,  the  word  tdcen  should  precede  ^nig,  both  on  account 
of  the  metrical  rule  concerning  the  rhyming  letter  in  the  second  half-line,  and  in  con- 
seauence  of  the  laws  of  accentuation. 


ORIGIN  OF  THE  GENESIS. 


379 


English  the  line,  far  from  losing  its  rhyme,  first  got  its  cor- 
rect alliterative  shape.  Now  it  is  true  that  in  replacing  the 
Old  Saxonisms  found  in  the  fragment  by  their  English  equiv- 
alents, (for  instance,  if  in  v.  68 1  we  were  to  write  soMin 
wordum  for  wcerutn  wordum),  the  alliteration  would  now 
and  then  be  sacrificed.  But  can  we  imagine  an  English 
translator  to  have  been  at  once  so  nice  with  regard  to  metre, 
and  so  unscrupulous  in  the  handling  of  his  own  language, 
as  to  alter  Old  Saxon  formulas  only  when  alliteration  was 
safe,  or  (as  in  the  case  of  v.  540)  could  be  preserved  by 
transposition,  but  whenever  this  did  not  seem  quite  easy,  to 
leave  unchanged  even  such  words  as  must  have  been  entirely 
incomprehensible  to  his  countrymen  ? 

On  the  other  hand,  1  can  easily  imagine  a  learned  Old 
Saxon  monk,  one  of  the  foreign  scholars  attracted  to  Eng- 
land by  King  Aelfred,  writing  the  English  language  with 
ease,  and  on  the  whole  even  with  purity,  yet  unable  entirely 
to  avoid  unidiomatic  terms,  especially  when  clinging  to  allit- 
erative formulas  familiar  to  him  from  his  youth. 

At  all  events,  then,  two  Genesis-poems  are  to  be  distin- 
guished, which,  following  Sievers,  we  shall  call  A  and  B. 
In  my  opinion,  the  latter  poem  (B),  represented  by  v.  235- 
851  of  Genesis,  was  composed  during  the  second  half  (or, 
more  exactly,  the  last  quarter)  of  the  ninth  century.  Ac- 
cording to  Sievers,  it  must  have  been  turned  mto  English  at 
about  the  same  time.  The  question  now  arises :  Is  it  to  be 
ascribed  to  an  earlier  or  to  a  later  period  than  B  ?  or  may 
they  belong  nearly  to  the  same  epoch  ? 

V.  Sievers  is  inclined  to  assume  the  priority  of  A,  think- 
ing it  possible  that  the  poet  of  A  himself  worked  the  frag- 
ment of  B,  then  extant,  into  his  own  poetry  (see  above).  In 
the  first  book  of  the  present  work,  ch.  iv.  and  viii.,  I  main- 
tain the  contrary  opinion,  calling  A  the  Elder,  B  the  Younger 
Ge7iesis,  and  accounting  for  the  loss  of  the  latter  part  of  B 
by  the  assumption  that  the  scribe  or  reviser  of  A  availed  him- 
self of  the  later  Genesis-poem  only  to  fill  up  the  lacunae  in 
the  text  of  the  earlier  one* 

The  chief  arguments  touched  upon  in  my  fourth  chapter, 
as  indicative  of  the  high  antiquity  of  A,  concern  the  compo- 
sidon,  style,  and  spirit  of  the  poem,  the  epic  simplicity  and 
severity  pervadmg  it.     Great  stress  is  laid  on  the  fact  that  in 


380  APPENDIX. 

this  poem  epic  fulness  and  a  deep  religious  emotion  are 
found  unaccompanied  by  the  sentimental  mood  character- 
istic of  later  writers.  It  would  be  easy  to  enlarge  upon 
these  features,  adding  a  great  number  of  new  illustrations  to 
those  given  in  the  text,  and  confronting  them  with  parallel 
passages  from  other  Old  English  poems.  I  am,  however,  of 
opinion  that  this  would  be  of  but  little  avail  for  such  readers 
as  have  not  read  the  poems  in  question ;  whereas,  those  who 
have  will  scarcely  require  it.  As  to  the  class  of  readers  wont 
to  mete  out  the  confidence  to  be  placed  in  an  author's  con- 
clusions in  exact  proportion  to  the  number  of  pages  and  of 
learned  quotations  he  has  used  in  argument, — and  this  class 
is  much  more  numerous  than  is  generally  presumed,  consist- 
ing chiefly  of  people  who  call  themselves  scholars, — I  con- 
fess I  don't  value  their  assent  so  highly  as  to  be  willing  to 
put  myself  to  much  trouble  for  the  sake  of  gaining  it. 

Of  the  language  of  the  Elder  Genesis^  an  exhaustive  and 
truly  critical  examination  is  still  wanting.  Dr.  Götzinger's 
attempt  to  prove  the  language  of  the  Genesis-poem,  as  a 
whole,  of  later  origin  than  the  language  of  Exodus  and 
Daniel,  must  be  pronounced  a  decided  failure.  But  we  must 
not  forget  that  inquiries  of  this  kind  were  much  more  diffi- 
cult to  make  in  i860  than  they  would  be  now.  Since  the 
appearance  of  Grein's  Sprachschatz,  for  instance,  every  be- 
ginner may  easily  avoid  errors  like  that  which  Dr.  Götzinger 
falls  into  concerning  the  word  fce.le,  which  he  calls,  on  p.  44 
of  his  essay,  ein  sehr  junges  Wort,  apparently  unaware  of  the 
fact  that  it  occurs  in  what  may  be  regarded  as  the  very 
earliest  among  extant  English  poems,  namely,  in  Wtdsith. 

Still,  even  at  this  time,  an  attempt  to  determine  the  ap- 
proximate age  of  the  Earlier  Genesis  from  an  examination  of 
the  language  would  meet  with  great  difficulties,  and  would 
have  to  grapple  with  very  delicate  questions.  Not  only  that 
here,  as  in  similar  cases,  allowance  would  have  to  be  made 
for  the  modernisation  the  poem  underwent  at  the  hands  of 
later  scribes;  ill  the  lexicological  part  of  his  inquiry,  the 
critic  would  have  to  show  himself  fully  aware  of  the  poet's 
individuality,  of  the  difference,  for  instance,  existing  between 
the  author  of  the  Earlier  Gejiesis  and  the  authors  of  Exodus 
or  of  Ekjie. 

As  to  the  character  of  our  poet,  I  depict  him,  in  my  fourth 


cAedmon's  hymn  and  the  earlier  genesis.      381 

chapter,  as  a  grand  and  noble  mind,  wanting,  however,  a 
more  refined  culture ;  as  an  author  apparently  belonging  to 
an  epic  age,  yet  showing  in  his  work  but  few  traces  of  that 
enthusiasm  for  the  "  pride  and  circumstance  "  of  war,  and 
for  the  conventional  ideas  of  thegnhood,  common  to  the 
propagators  of  the  national  epic.  In  short,  I  represent  him 
as  answering,  in  all  essential  points,  to  the  idea  we  are  en- 
titled to  form  of  the  poet  Caedmon.  I  do  not  wish  to  go 
beyond  this.  I  am  far  from  insinuating  that  we  should  be, 
in  any  way,  justified  in  applying  to  our  poet  the  name  of 
Caedmon,  except  by  courtesy  alone.  Still,  an  additional  cir- 
cumstance bearing  upon  this  question,  and  already  ahuded 
to  in  my  fourth  chapter,  perhaps  deserves  to  be  brought 
nearer  to  my  readers.  It  concerns  a  rather  striking  corre- 
spondence in  phraseology  between  Caedmon's  "  hymn  "  and 
the  Earlier  Genesis. 

The  epithets  serving  to  designate  God  in  the  Hymn  are 
the  following;  i,  hefceruices  uard^  2,  moncynnes  iiard.,  3, 
metud,  4,  tmldtirfadur,  5,  eci  dijctin  (occurring  twice),  6, 
haleg  scepe?i,  7,  jFred  allmectig.  Now,  turning  to  Prof  Siev- 
ers's  list  of  similar  expressions  occurring  in  A,  we  find  No.  i 
employed  four  times,  No.  2  twice.  No.  3  three  and  twenty 
times,  besides  the  combinations  in  which  the  word  occurs. 
No.  5  eleven  times.  No.  7  eleven  times.  The  only  expres- 
sions not  found  in  A  are  ivuldorfceder  (No.  4),  instead  of 
which  it  has  wicidorcyning,  four  times,  and  hdleg  scepe?i, 
(No.  6),  or  as  Aelfred's  version  has  it,  hdlig  scyppend^  the  word 
scyppend  being  used  in  A  only  with  his  (once)  or  with  üre 
(five  times). 

If,  for  comparison's  sake,  we  take  up  another  English 
poem,  especially  rich  in  expressions  of  this  kind,  namely 
Cynewulf's  Christy  instead  of  but  two,  three  of  the  above- 
mentioned  epithets  are  entirely  wanting  (Nos.  i,  2,  and  6). 
On  the  other  hand,  the  word  wuldorfceder  here  occurs,  but 
only  once,  whereas  Cynewulf  does  not  employ  it  at  all  in 
any  of  his  other  works. 

We  may,  then,  be  permitted  to  say  that,  though  it  would 
be  rash  to  draw  any  positive  inference  from  the  phraseolog- 
ical correspondence  pointed  out,  yet,  considering  it  in  con- 
nection with  other  features  of  the  Earlier  Genesis^  it  would 
seem  to  be  deserving  of  some  regard. 


3^2  APPENDIX. 

While  writing  these  additional  pages  for  the  English  edi- 
tion of  the  present  work,  I  received  the  last  number  of  the 
Anglia  (Vol.  V.  No.  i),  containing,  on  pp.  124-133,  a  short 
essay  on  the  Earlier  Geftesis  by  Prof.  Ebert.  The  chief  ob- 
ject of  this  essay  is  a  comparison  of  the  poem^  with  the  cor- 
responding parts  of  the  book  of  Genesis  in  the  Vulgate. 
Having  carefully  perused  it,  I  am  happy  to  state  that  I  find 
nothing  to  alter  in  the  account  given  of  the  Earlier  Genesis 
in  the  fourth  chapter  of  my  first  book.  But  I  must  say,  in  this 
place,  a  few  words  on  the  inference  the  learned  author  thinks 
himself  entitled  to  draw  from  the  results  of  his  inquiry  into 
Bede's  account  of  Caedmon  and  his  poetry. 

According  to  Prof.  Ebert,  it  is  evident  that  the  poem  in 
question  could  not  have  been  composed  by  Caedmon:  i. 
Because  it  is  the  work  of  a  learned  poet,  having  himself  stud- 
ied the  Bible,  and  writing  with  the  Holy  Book  before  him ; 
2,  Because  it  is  an  epic  poem,  whereas  the  Professor  infers 
from  Bede's  narrative  that  Caedmon 's  songs  must  have  had 
the  character  of  hymns. 

As  to  the  first  point,  I  confess  I  have  but  a  very  imperfect 
notion  both  of  the  strength  of  Caedmon's  memory,  and  of 
the  manner  in  which  he  was  taught,  and  the  work  of  para- 
phrasing the  Bible  was  carried  on  between  him  and  his  teach- 
ers. I  only  venture  to  observe  that  from  Bede's  words.  At 
ipse  cuncta  quae  aiidiendo  discere  poterat^  rememorando  se- 
CUM,  et  quasi  mundum  animal^  ruminando  in  cartnen  diil- 
cissi?nu?n  converiebat^  we  may  safely  assume  that  Caedmon  not 
simply  translated  his  daily  lesson,  line  by  line,  but  made,  in 
some  places,  curtailments  and  transpositions  of  the  same  kind 
as  are  to  be  found  in  the  Ea?'lier  Genesis.  On  the  other  hand, 
from  the  phrase  stiaviiisque  resonando  doctores  suos  vicissim 
aiiditores  sin  faciebat,  we  are  not  to  infer  that  these  teachers, 
turned  auditors,  when  writing  down  Caedmon's  poems  from 
his  own  mouth, — as  they  most  probably  did — were  content 
to  write  every  line  just  as  it  was  uttered.  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that,  now  and  then,  they  submitted  to  the  poet's 
judgment  alterations  or  additions  to  be  made,  for  the  sake 
of  correctness  or  completeness,  repeating  to  him  that  part  of 
the  lesson  required  for  the  purpose.  For  aught  I  know,  they 
may  even  have  gone  so  far  as  to  make  corrections  of  less  im- 

'  More  strictly  speaking,  of  the  portion  beginning  at  v.  852. 


fiBERT'S  THEORY.  3^3 

port,  for  Instance,  concerning  names  and  numbers,  on  their 
own  responsibility. 

As  to  the  second  point,  having  once  more  read  the  pas- 
sage in  Bede,  it  seems  impossible  to  come  to  a  conclusion 
respecting  its  purport  different  from  that  reached  many  years 
ago,  to  wit,  that  Caedmon  composed  epic  as  well  as  lyrical 
and  didactic  poems;  and  I  entirely  fail  to  see  how  Prof. 
Ebert  should  have  come  to  a  different  result. 

To  infer  from  the  phrase  Canebat  autem  de  creatiofie  mundi 
et  origine  hwnani generis  ei  toia  Genesis  hisforia,  etc.,  that  the 
poems  composed  by  Caedmon  on  these  and  similar  subjects 
were  hymns,  would  be  much  the  same  thing  as  to  infer  from 
the  phrase  Arma  virumqiie  cano  that  Virgil  meant  to  com- 
pose a  hymn  when  wriung  his  yEneid.  When  Prof  Ebert 
says  with  respect  to  the  (carmina)  de  beneficiis  et  judiciis  di- 
vinis,  mentioned  by  Bede,  "  that  the  subject  of  these  songs 
throws  a  light  on  the  poetic  manner  in  which  Caedmon 
treated  biblical  subjects,"  I  cannot  but  think  that  he  has 
overlooked  the  circumstance  that  the  new  sentence,  begin- 
ning with  Item  de  terrore,  as  it  points  to  a  difterent  range  of 
subjects,  not  unlikely,  in  Bede's  mind,  was  to  suggest  also  a 
a  manner  of  composition  differing  from  the  poems  mentioned 
in  the  preceding  sentence.^  It  may  be  added  that,  within 
narrower  bounds,  the  same  holds  with  regard  to  the  subdi- 
vision of  the  second  sentence,  marked  by  the  words  sed  et 
alia  perplura.  The  Professor's  supposition  that  Caedmon 
"  certainly  "  composed  only  in  a  single  form  or  species  of 
poetry,  can  be  admitted  only  in  so  far  as  all  English  poets, 
almost  without  exception,  may  be  said  to  have  cultivated 
ths  same  poetic  form.  They  all  employed  the  epic  measure 
and  drew,  more  or  less  largely,  from  the  epic  vocabulary ; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  they  were  wont  to  introduce  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  subjective  feeling  and  reflection  even  into 
such  of  their  composidons  as  come  nearest  to  the  purely  epic 
type.  Notwithstanding  this,  we  may,  among  Cynewulf's 
works  for  instance,  distinguish  epic,  lyrical,  and  didactic 
poems ;  and  there  is  no  reason  whatever  for  supposing  that 
Caedmon's  poetry  excluded  the  epic  genre. 

1  As  to  the  Apostolo-rum  doctrina,  closing  the  enumeration  in  the  preceding  sentence, 
the  expression  doubtless  does  not  mean  the  substance  of  the  apostolic  doctrine,  but 
rather  the  manner  in  which  it  was  propagated  :  in  other  words,  the  story  of  the  apos- 
tles, as  told  in  the  Acts  and,  perhaps,  in  apocryphal  accounts. 


3^4  APPENDIX. 

Great  stress  is  laid  by  Prof.  Ebert  on  the  pious  intention 
and  the  didactic  tendency  with  which  Caedmon,  according 
to  Bede,  composed  his  poems.  If  I  do  not  misinterpret  the 
Professor's  meaning,  he  seems  to  hold  that  lyrical  poems,  at 
least  such  as  answer  to  the  character  of  hymns,  are  more 
apt  to  draw  people  on  to  virtue,  than  compositions  of  the 
truly  epic  kind.  Now  this  is  a  point  upon  which  I  should 
not  like  to  enter  into  discussion.  Looking,  however,  at  the 
large  amount  of  Bible  epics  and  the  numberless  lives  of  saints 
composed  during  the  Middle  Ages,  and  considering  the  gen- 
eral purpose  with  which  these  were  professedly  written,  as 
well  as  the  special  ends  they  were  frequently  made  to  serve,  I 
cannot  refrain  from  observing  that  Prof  Ebert's  opinion, 
whether  right  or  wrong,  was  certainly  not  the  opinion  preva- 
lent at  the  earlier  stages  of  Occidental  literature.  Nor,  if 
we  turn  to  a  later  age,  does  it  seem  to  have  been  the  opinion 
held  by  such  poets  as  Spenser  and  Milton. 

VI.  The  twentieth  volume  of  the  Germania  (edited  by 
Karl  Bartsch)  contains,  on  pp.  292-305,  an  essay  on  the  Exodus 
poem  by  Dr.  Joseph  Strobl,  which  I  cannot  here  pass  over 
in  silence,  as  it  is  a  rather  remarkable  specimen  of  acute,  but 
somewhat  venturesome  criticism.  According  to  Dr.  Strobl, 
the  original  poem,  treating  of  the  fortunes  of  the  Israelites 
on  the  Red  Sea,  began  at  v.  135  of  the  transmitted  text,  and 
had  quite  the  character  of  an  epic  song.  To  this  piece  v/as 
first  prefixed  an  introduction,  from  another  hand,  contain- 
ing the  substance  of  v.  1-55.  Next  a  great  many  passages  ^ 
were  interpolated  into  the  text  by  a  third  poet,  anxious  to 
bring  about  a  greater  conformity  with  the  biblical  narrative  ; 
and,  finally,  in  the  introduction,  too,  interpolations  were  in- 
serted. 

The  evidence  collected  by  Dr.  Strobl  in  support  of  this 
theory  bears  partly  upon  the  use  of  certain  words  and  epi- 
thets, and  partly  upon  the  connection  of  thought.  I  do  not 
wish  to  pass  a  summary  judgment  upon  the  author's  manner 
of  reasoning;  but  I  will  not  withhold  a  few  observations  on 
his  results. 

I  agree  with  Dr.  Strobl  in  admitting  that  the  poem  of 
Exodus  contains  some  interpolations ;  but  I  must  say  that 

1_  Among  the  larger  interpolations  assumed  by  Dr.  Strobl  are  (besides  v.  362-455, 
which  I,  too,  consider  as  interpolated)  v.  56-134  and  515-547. 


PURITY  OF  THE  EXODUS.  385 

among  the  passages  he  marks  as  interpolated  the  greater 
part  afford  us  no  sufficient  grounds  for  doubting  their  gen- 
uineness. 

As  to  the  beginning  of  the  original  poem,  I  feel  absolutely- 
sure  that  it  did  not  begin  at  v.  135,  even  supposing  the  read- 
ing proposed  by  Dr.  Strobl  to  be  the  true  one,  which  it  is 
certainly  not : 

^sbr  on  fyrAJrecne  fabrspell  becwom, 
oht  inlende 

I  know  of  no  epic  song,  no  popular  ballad,  beginning  in  this 
abrupt  way.  Much  less  would  a  writer  of  religious  poetry, 
imitating  the  epic  style,  have  hazarded  such  an  exordium. 
Dr.  Strobl's  Liedertheorie  evidently  does  not  agree  with  the 
facts.  If  he  wants  to  convince  himself  of  this,  let  him  look 
at  any  collection  of  ballads  written  in  any  European  lan- 
guage whatever.  Take,  for  instance,  the  Romancero  del  Cid. 
As  a  rule,  in  each  poem  the  situation,  together  with  the  per- 
sons acting,  frequently  also  the  place  of  action,  is  clearly 
pointed  out  from  the  beginning.  There  are  some  excep- 
tions, it  is  true,  based,  it  would  seem,  upon  the  principle  of 
rousing  the  auditor's  curiosity.  In  these  the  poem  mainly 
consists  of  a  speech,  at  the  end  of  which  the  person  who 
pronounced  it  is  named.  Setting  aside  the  question  as  to 
the  origin  of  this  latter  sort  of  ballads,  it  is  evident  that  their, 
so  to  say,  dramatic  way  of  plunging  into  medias  res  is  not  at 
all  to  be  compared  with  an  opening  like  that  assumed  by 
Dr.  Strobl.  Turning  to  an  instance  more  near  at  hand, 
to  the  Hildebrandslied,  we  have  the  names  of  both  heroes, 
father  and  son,  mentioned  in  the  very  first  sentence.  Dr. 
Strobl,  in  corroboration  of  his  view,  refers  to  the  opening 
lines  of  what,  according  to  Prof  Müllenhoff's  story,  makes 
up  the  first  song  oi  Beoimilf  : 

Jjaet  fram  ham  gefrsegn  Hygelaces  t)egn, 
god  mid  Geatum,  Grendles  dabda. 

But,  granting  the  method  of  supporting  one  theory  by  an- 
other to  be  legitimate,  nobody,  I  hope,  will  fail  to  see  the 
enormous  difference  between  the  two  instances.  In  the 
Beowulf-lmes  we  have  not  less  than  three  proper  names  (in- 
cluding the  gentile  noun  Gedtas),  and  the  two  chief  actors 
of  the  story,  Beowulf  (Hygelaces  ]>egnj  and  Grendel,  are 
clearly  pointed  out ;  whereas  in  the  passage  of  Exodus  cited 

A2 


386  APPENDIX. 

above  there  is  nothing  of  the  kind,  the  expression  Egypta 
cyn  (v.  145)  occurring  not  less  than  ten  lines  later,  and  the  ex- 
pression Moyses  leode,  after  another  interval  of  seven  lines 
(v.  152).  In  short,  there  cannot  be  the  least  doubt  that  the 
Exodus-poem  had  an  introduction ;  and  evidence  quite  dif- 
ferent from  that  produced  by  Dr.  Strobl  would  be  required 
to  establish  the  fact  that  its  present  introduction,  whether 
containing  interpolations  or  not,  was  not  the  original  one. 

I  should  like  to  say  a  few  words  on  the  very  curious  ex- 
planation the  learned  critic  gives  of  v.  467-479,  which,  ac- 
cording to  him,  depict  the  perilous  situation  of  the  Israelites 
marching  across  the  Red  Sea;  but  I  must  resist  the  tempta- 
tion. 


B.—(BOOK  I.,  CHAPTER  V.). 

cynewulf's  life  and  works. 

My  account  of  Cynewulf,  or  Coenewulf,  is  chiefly  based 
on  the  investigations  of  Professor  Dietrich,^  whose  results, 
however,  I  have  accepted  only  in  so  far  as  they  seemed  to 
me  fully  established.  I  do  not  follow  Dietrich  in  identifying 
Cynewulf,  the  poet,  with  Cynewulf,  the  bishop  of  Lindis- 
farne  (737-780),  nor  in  ascribing  to  him  the  fragment  extant 
of  an  Old  English  Physiologus.  Next  to  the  learned  Mar- 
burg professor,  I  feel  most  indebted,  for  this  portion  of  my 
work,  to  Heinrich  Leo,^  who  first  showed  that  the  charade 
prefixed  to  the  collection  of  Riddles  in  the  Exeter  MS.,  con- 
tains the  name  of  Cynewulf,  and  to  Dr.  Max  Rieger,^  for 
his  excellent  commentary  on  the  same  charade  and  his  in- 
terpretation of  the  runes  occurring  in  the  epilogue  to  Elene, 
It  is  .mainly  owing  to  Dr.  Rieger's  researches  that  Cyne- 
wulf's Northumbrian  origin,  which  had  not  been  quite  suffi- 
ciently established,  either  by  Leo  or  by  Dietrich,  now  may 
be  taken  for  granted,  and  that  a  satisfactory  explanation  of 

1  See  Zeitschrift  für  deutcJies  Alterßium,  IX.,  p.  193;  XI.,  p.  448;  XII.,  p.  232: 
fahrbuch  für  romaniscJie  ufid  engliscJie  Literatur,  I.  p.  241 ;  Cotntnentatio  dl 
Kynewulü  poetcu  aetate,  etc.,  Marburg,  i860;  Disj>utatio  de  cruce  RuthiueUensit 
Marburg,  1865. 

*  Q?(ae  de  se  ipse  Cynewulfus  .  .   .  tradiderit,  Halle,  1857. 

*  Zeitschriftfür  deutsche  Philologie,  I.,  pp.  215-226,  313-334. 


THEORIES  REGARDING  CYNEWULF.  387 

the  epilogue  mentioned  has  become  possible.  But  as  to  the 
explanation  given  by  Dr.  Rieger  himself,  I  believe  I  have 
shown  elsewhere^  that  it  cannot  be  accepted  without  some  es- 
sential modifications,  chiefly  important  on  account  of  their  bear- 
ing upon  the  question  of  the  chronology  of  Cynewulf's  works. 
Respecting  the  same  critic's  attempt  to  show  that  Cynev/ulf, 
besides  the  greater  part  of  the  poems  ascribed  to  him  by 
Dietrich,  wrote  also  the  Wanderer,  the  Seafarer,  and  sev- 
eral other  lyric  and  gnomic  pieces,  I  shall  only  say  that  it 
appears  to  me  unsuccessful.  The  analogy  in  idea  and  ex- 
pression existing  between  these  poems  and  some  of  the  un- 
doubted works  of  Cynewulf  would  be  sufficiently  accounted 
for  by  supposing  one  poet  to  have  imitated  the  other,  or 
both  an  earlier  writer.  And,  in  my  opinion,  there  is  much 
in  the  manner  of  the  Wanderer,  as  well  as  the  Seafarer^ 
not  exactly  corresponding  to  Cynewulf's  poetical  character, 
as  displayed  in  his  authentic  productions.  The  same  must 
be  said  with  regard  to  the  Rhyming  Poem,  ascribed  to  Cyne- 
wulf by  Grein,  but,  as  shown  by  Dr.  Rieger,  most  probably 
belonging  to  a  later  age. 

More  particulars  concerning  the  above-mentioned,  as  well 
as  other  writers,  on  our  poet  may  be  found  in  Prof.  Wiilck- 
er's  essay  Ueber  Cy7iewulf,  published  in  the  Anglia,  I.  pp. 
483-507,  some  months  after  the  appearance  of  the  original 
edition  of  the  present  volume.  It  is  the  first  of  a  series  of 
articles  on  Cynewulf,  contained  in  the  same  periodical,  and 
purporting  to  submit  to  a  new  examination  some  of  the  chief 
results  arrived  at  by  earlier  investigators,  and  notably  by 
Dietrich. 

Prof  Wiilcker  begins  by  drawing  a  rather  elaborate  sketch 
of  what  he  calls  the  romance  concerning  Cynewulf's  life. 
As  the  different  features  of  his  picture  are  borrowed  from 
different  authors,  it  cannot  be  said  to  give,  as  a  whole,  a 
fair  representation  of  the  views  professed  by  any  of  them.^ 
At  all  events,  I  for  my  own  part  shall  be  justified  in  saying 
nothing  about  it,  my  own  account  of  Cynewulf's  life  being 
not  in  the  least  more  romantic  than  the  views  developed  by 

'  See  A  nzeiger/ür  dezitches  A  lterthu7n,  V. ,  p.  64,  et  seq. 

2  Perhaps  we  ought  to  except  Grein,  whose  theory  on  Cynewulf,  as  developed  in  his 
lectures,  is  alluded  to  by  Wiilcker  in  several  passages  of  the  above-mentioned  essay, 
and  has  since  been  made  accessible  to  the  public ;  see  A  ngeJsäcJisische  Graminatik  von 
Pro/.  Dr.  C.  W.  M.  Grein,  Kassel,  1880,  pp.  11-15. 


388  APPENDIX. 

Wülcker  himself,  at  the  close  of  his  essay,  and  indeed  differ- 
ing but  very  little  from  them. 

Having  sketched  the  romance,  the  Professor  proceeds  to 
examine  the  foundations  it  is  built  on.  The  results  of  this 
inquiry  are  summed  up,  on  p.  506  of  his  essay,  under  the 
following  four  heads : 

1.  "  The  Ruth  well  Cross  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
our  poet,  even  if  the  poem  written  on  it  should  have  been 
composed  by  Cynewulf " 

2.  "  Our  poet  was  certainly  not  the  same  person  with  that 
Cynewulf  who,  having  been  bishop  of  Lindisfarena  e  from 
about  737  till  780,  withdrew  and  soon  after  died." 

3.  "  There  is  no  sufficient  evidence  for  admitting  that 
Cynewulf  was  a  native  of  Northumbria." 

4.  "  The  Dream  of  the  Cross  was  not  composed  by  Cyne- 
wulf." 

As  to  the  first  and  second  of  these  theses,  being  substan- 
tially of  the  same  opinion  as  Prof.  Wülcker,  I  shall  dispense 
with  discussing  his  arguments.  Concerning  the  two  latter 
points,  I  refer  the  reader  to  my  review  of  Prof.  Zupitza's  edi- 
tion of  Cynewulf's  Ele?ie,  printed  in  Anzeiger  für  detaches 
Alterthtun,  V.  pp.  53-70.  He  there  will  find  Wiilcker's  ob- 
jections refuted,  the  arguments  establishing  Cynewulf's 
Northumbrian  origin  summed  up,  and  additional  evidence 
produced  for  the  fact  that  he  really  wrote  the  Dream  of  the 
Cross. 

The  second  volume  of  the  Anglia  contains  two  essays  on 
subjects  connected  with  Cynewulf  The  first,  by  Dr.  Char- 
itius,  (pp.  268-308)  purports  to  show  that  from  the  two  parts 
which  are  to  be  distinguished  in  the  poem  of  Guthlac^  only 
the  latter  (B),  founded  upon  the  Vita  Guthlaci,  was  written 
by  Cynewulf,  whereas  the  former  part  (A)  is  to  be  regarded 
as  the  work  of  an  earlier  poet.  Having  no  leisure,  for  the 
present,  to  enter  upon  the  details  of  this  question,  I  can  only 
express  my  conviction  that  Dr.  Charitius,  whilst  strengthen- 
ing Dietrich's  arguments  respecting  the  authorship  of  Giith- 
lac  B^  has  failed  to  prove  his  own  theory  concerning  Guthlac 
A.     I  still  hold  it  possible,  nay  probable,  that  this  part,  too, 

'This  was  first  remarked  by  Dr.  Rieger  :  see  Zeitschrift  für  deiiiscJie  Philologie, 
I.  p.  326,  note.  In  his  essay  on  Attdrens  (Anglia,  II.  p.  461)  Dr.  Fritzsche  observes 
that  traces  of  an  acquaintance  with  the  Vita  Guthlaci  may  be  seen  also  in  Guthlac 
A  from  V.  500  on. 


ASSER'S  LIFE  OF  AELFRED.  389 

was  written  by  Cynewulf,  although  I  admit  that  a  new  inquiry 
into  the  question  would  be  desirable.  At  all  events,  thus 
much  seems  to  result  from  Charitius's  investigations,  that  the 
lapse  of  time  intervening  between  the  composition  of  Giithlac 
A  and  Giithlac  B  must  have  been  a  rather  considerable  one. 

The  second  article,  by  Dr.  Fritzsche  (pp.  441-496),  dis- 
cusses the  question  of  the  authorship  of  the  Andreas-poem, 
coming  to  the  conclusion  that  this  was  not  written  by  Cyne- 
wulf himself,  but  by  another  poet  belonging  to  his  school. 
This  essay  is,  on  the  whole,  written  with  great  care,^  as  well 
as  a  certain  amount  of  acumen,  and  the  author's  argument, 
though  not  absolutely  convincing,  is  well  calculated  to  raise 
serious  doubts  concerning  CynewulPs  authorship. 

Finally,  in  an  essay  printed  in  the  third  volume  of  the 
Afiglia,  pp.  488-526,  Dr.  Gabler  shows  that  Dietrich  was 
right  in  ascribing  to  Cynewulf  the  poem  of  the  Phoenix. 


C— (BOOK  I.  CHAPTER  VIL). 

ASSER'S    life    of   AELFRED    AND    THE   WINCHESTER   ANNALS. 

One  of  the  critics  of  my  Litter aiw'ge schichte  pointed  out 
to  me  the  letters  written  by  Mr.  Henry  H.  Howorth  to  the 
editor  of  the  Athenaeiwi,  from  March  25,  '76  to  August  4,  '77 
(which  had  escaped  my  notice  when  I  was  preparing  the 
volume  for  the  press),  as  containing  conclusive  evidence  of 
the  inauthenticity  of  Asser's  Life  of  Aelfred.  Having  now 
carefully  read  them  through,  as  well  as  some  other  recent 
matter  on  the  same  subject,  I  must  say,  the  question,  in  my 
eyes,  remains  nearly  the  same  as  before,  surrounded  by  the 
greatest  difficulties  and  involved  in  dense  obscurity.  It 
would  be  out  of  place  in  an  appendix  to  a  work  of  this  nature 
to  enter  upon  the  details  of  a  problem  of  only  secondary 
importance  with  regard  to  the  general  object  of  the  work; 
but  the  serious  doubts  existing  in  respect  of  the  date  and 

»  I  cannot,  however,  help  wondering  at  the  fact  that  Dr.  Fritzsche,  as  well  as  Dr. 
Charitius,  whilst  alluding  to  the  conclusions  in  Prof.  Wiilcker's  _essay  on  Cynewulf, 
»eems  to  be  quite  unaware  of  the  existence  of  my  article  in  \kic  Anzeiger  (v.  s.},  in 
which  part  of  them  are  refuted. 


390 


APPENDIX. 


origin  of  the  said  biography  not  having  been  indicated  in 
my  text,  it  may  be  as  well  to  say  at  least  in  a  note  that  I  am 
fully  aware  of  their  weight,  and  think  it  no  easy,  though  at 
the  same  time  no  impossible,  task  to  remove  them. 

As  to  Mr.  Howorth's  attempt  to  show  that  the  Parker  MS. 
of  the  Anglo-Saxon  Chronkle  was  probably  copied  from  the 
Cottonian  MS.,  Otho,  B.  xi.,  I  hope  I  may  be  allowed  to  ex- 
press my  conviction  that  he  haf)  entirely  failed  to  prove  his 
case,  and  that  paleo graphical  as  well  as  linguistic  evidence 
is  most  decidedly  in  favour  of  the  earlier  origin  of  the  Parker 
MS.  I  am  confident  that,  unless  quite  unlooked-for  materi- 
als should  one  day  turn  up,  the  Parker  MS.  will  for  ever 
maintain  its  rank  as  being,  on  the  whole,  the  most  authentic 
copy  of  the  Winchester  Annals^  and  chiefly  as  presenting  in 
its  earher  script,  extending  to  the  year  991,  the  most  trust- 
worthy text  of  a  compilation  made  in  the  days  of  King 
Aelfred. 


D.— (BOOK  I.,  CHAPTER  VII.). 

THE    WORKS   OF    KING   AELFRED. 

According  to  Prof.  Wiilcker  [Beiträge  zur  Geschichte  der 
deutschen  Spi'ache  und  Literatur^  IV.  pp.  100-13 1),  part  of 
Aelfred's  Enchiridio7i  would  have  come  down  to  us  in  the 
Old  English  version  of  St.  Augustine's  Soliloquia,  contained 
in  the  Cottonian  MS.,  Vitellius,  A.  XV.  On  the  other  hand, 
Dr.  E.  Gropp  [On  the  Language  of  the  Proverbs  of  Aelfred, 
Halis  Saxonum,  1829  [read  :  1879],  p.  15)  seeks  to  establish 
a  certain  connection  between  Aelfred's  JIand-book  and  the 
early  Middle  English  Proverbs,  going  under  the  name  of  the 
great  West-Saxon  king.  (Compare  B.  II.  ch.  v.  of  the 
present  work.) 


E.— (BOOK  I.,  CHAPTER  IX.). 

wulfstan's  homilies. 

According  to  Dr.  Arthur  Napier,  who  has  quite  recently 
given  us  a  good  edition  of  two  of  Wulfstan's  homilies,  to- 


AUTHORSHIP  OF  GENESIS  AND  EXODUS.  391 

gether  with  the  so-called  Pastoral  Maftdate  ( Ueher  die  Werke 
des  altenglischen  Erzbischofs  Wulf  stau,  Weimar,  1882),  the 
greater  part  of  the  fifty-three  homilies  ascribed  to  Wulfstan  by 
Wanley,  consist  of  compilations  from  different  other  homilies 
some  among  the  number  being  simply  taken  from  the  Blick- 
ling  series,  or  from  the  collections  composed  by  Aelfric,  with 
another  exordium  prefixed  to  them.  Dr.  Napier  says  that  a 
critical  examination  of  the  homilies  in  question,  with  a  view 
of  establishing  their  authorship,  should  proceed  upon  the 
basis  afforded  by  the  four  pieces  unquestionably  belongin«' 
to  Wulfstan,  namely  Nos.  i,  2,  5,1  6,  according  to  Wanley's 
numbering.  Applying  this  method  to  the  Pastoral  Mandate, 
he  arrives  at  the  conclusion  that  of  the  two  parts  which 
may  be  distinguished  in  it  only  the  former  was  written  by 
Wulfstan. 


F.— (BOOK  II.,  CHAPTER  XL). 

GENESIS    AND    EXODUS. 

The  opinion  expressed  in  my  account  of  the  Middle 
English  Stojy  of  Ge?iesis  and  Exodus  concerning  the  identical 
authorship  of  the  two  poems,  namely,  that  it  was  a  supposi- 
tion wanting  proof  and,  on  the  whole,  rather  improbable, 
has  called  forth  an  essay  by  Dr.  Fritzsche,  1st  die  altenglische 
"  Story  of  Gc7iesis  and  Exodus'^  das  iverk  eines  Verfassers? 
(Afiglia,  V.  pp.  43-90).  By  a  comparison  of  the  versification 
(including  rhyme  and  alliteration),  the  language,  and  the 
phraseology  of  both  poems.  Dr.  Fritzsche  attempts  to  show 
that  the  question  is  to  be  answered  in  the  affirmative.  Un- 
fortunately the  phonological  part  of  his  treatise  is  quite  un- 
satisfactory, and  I  am  sorry  to  say  that,  generally  speaking, 
the  evidence  collected  by  him  does  not  seem  sufficient  to 
me.  With  regard  to  the  passage  quoted  from  my  book  on 
pp.  44-45  of  the  essay,  I  was  somewhat  surprised  to  find 
that  the  author,  having  correctly  reproduced  my  words  in 
that  place,  apparently  had  forgotten  their  meaning  when 
applying,  on  p.  82,  what  I  had  said  about  the  dialect  to  the 
style  of  the  poems  in  question. 

*  No.  5  is  the  Sertno  Lupi ad  A7iglos  alluded  to  in  our  text. 


392  APPENDIX. 

G.— (BOOK  IL,  CHAPTER  XII.). 

THE    LEGENDS   OF    ST.    KATHERINE,    ST.    MARGARET,    AND    ST. 
JULIANA,  AND  THE  HOMILY  ON  "  HALT  MEIDENHAD." 

The  poems  mentioned  in  the  heading  of  this  note  have 
been  quite  recently  submitted  to  a  close  investigation,  bear- 
ing on  their  form  as  well  as  their  conception,  by  Dr.  Eugen 
EiJienkel,  Ueber  die  Verfasser  eifiiger  neuangelsächsischer 
Schriften^  Leipzig,  1881,  and  Ueber  den  Verfasser  der  neu- 
angelsächsischen Legende  von  Kathari?ia,  published  in  the 
Anglia,  V.  pp.  91-123.  The  result  of  Dr.  Einenkel's  re- 
searches, as  far  as  the  authorship  of  the  four  poems  is  con- 
cerned, is  this,  that  St.  Alarherete  and  St.  Juliana  are  to  be 
ascribed  to  the  same  poet,  whereas  St.  Katherine,  being 
probably  the  earliest  in  date,  and  Ifali  Meidenhad,  showing 
traces  that  the  homihst  was  acquainted  with  the  Hfe  of  St. 
Margaret,  were  written  by  different  authors.  With  regard 
to  the  metre  of  these  poems,  I  wish  to  observe  that  the  dif- 
ference to  be  remarked  between  the  judgment  given  upon 
the  matter  in  the  text  of  the  present  work,  and  Dr.  Einen- 
kel's opinion  on  the  same  subject,  may,  for  a  large  part,  be 
reduced  to  a  mere  dissimilarity  of  terminology ;  but  this  dis- 
similarity is  such  as  to  presuppose  a  real  disparity  of  views 
in  respect  of  the  Old  English  alliterative  measure  and  its 
later  development. 


H.— (BOOK  III.,  CHAPTER  IL) 

THE  DATE  OF  THE  ENGLISH  SONG  OF  ROLAND. 

The  fragment  of  the  So7ig  of  Roland,  contained  in  the 
Lansdowne  MS.  388,  involves  some  of  the  most  intricate 
problems  of  philological  criticism  I  know  of.  Whether  con- 
sidering the  metre  or  the  rhymes,  or,  finally,  the  style  of  the 
poem,  we  meet  with  many  striking  peculiarities,  and  though 
in  most  cases,  taken  separately,  analogies  will  not  be  found 
wanting,  yet  I  hold  it  to  be  extremely  difficult  to  attach  the 
composition,  as  a  whole,  to  a  neatly  circumscribed  group  of 


DATE  OF  THE  SONG  OF  ROLAND.  393 

Middle  English  poems.  Now  this  circumstance  will  be 
allowed  by  all  persons  somewhat  versed  in  literary  criticism 
to  render  the  task  of  determining  the  date  of  the  poem  a 
very  delicate  one.  The  chief  test  to  be  applied  to  a  work 
of  this  character  will,  of  course,  be  that  of  the  language. 
But  here  a  new  difficulty  arises.  Whenever  we  want  to  fix 
the  grammatical  forms  used  by  a  poet,  and  altered  by  the 
scribes,  together  with  the  phonetic  value  originally  attached 
to  them,  we  recur  to  an  examination  of  the  rhymes  and  the 
metre  employed  in  the  poem.  But  the  verse  in  the  Son-g  of 
Rola7id^  being  so  peculiar,  or  what  amounts  nearly  to  the 
same  thing,  so  irregular,  as  to  admit  of  more  than  one  met- 
rical theory,  turns  out  to  be  of  but  little  help  in  the  present 
case;  and  a  great  part  of  the  rhymes  occurring  in  the 
poem  are  so  imperfect  as  almost  to  justify  Mr.  Sidney  J. 
Herrtage  in  saying  ''  that  a  good  and  true  rime  is  the  excep- 
tion, not  the  rule,"  whereas,  "  several  lines  occur  in  which, 
whether  from  the  fault  of  the  author  or  his  copier,  no  rime  at 
all  is  apparent."  This,  then,  being  the  case,  it  is  evident 
either  that  the  poet  was  so  inconsistent  in  following  the  rules 
of  his  art  as  to  render  the  usual  tests,  when  applied  to  his 
work,  almost  useless,  or  that  his  work  has  been  tampered 
with  by  scribes  and  revisers  in  a  most  atrocious  way.  Now 
I  believe  that,  notwithstanding  these  difficulties,  it  is  not  im- 
possible to  get  at  a  tolerably  clear  and  exact  notion  of  the 
original  form  of  the  poem.  But  to  bring  this  about  will  be 
a  very  arduous  task,  which  I  hope  I  shall  be  justified  in  not 
attempting  in  this  place  nor  at  this  time.  As  to  the  recent 
researches  on  the  subject  by  Dr.  Schleich  (see  Prolegomena 
ad  car?fien  de  Rolando  ajiglictim,  1879,  and  Afiglia,  IV.,  pp. 
307-341),  and  by  Mr.  Sidney  J.  Herrtage,  in  the  introduc- 
tion to  his  edition  of  the  English  Charlemagne  Romafices, 
Part  H.  (E.  E.  T.  S.,  1880),  I  must  say  that,  highly  merito- 
rious as  they  are,  especially  those  of  the  former,  they  hardly 
go  into  the  heart  of  the  question.  Concerning  the  date  of 
the  poem,  the  views  expressed  by  the  German  and  the  Eng- 
lish scholar  are  somewhat  different.  The  former,  judging 
from  the  loss  of  the  final  e  (a  test,  it  must  be  said,  not  much 
to  be  relied  on  in  the  present  case,  nor  applied  by  Dr. 
Schleich  with  quite  sufficient  accuracy),  thinks  it  probable 
that  the  Song  of  Roland  was  composed  after  1400  (see  es- 


394  APPENDIX. 

pecially  Anglia^  IV.,  p.  315);  whereas,  Mr.  Sidney  J.  Herr- 
tage is  inclined  to  fix  on  that  very  year  as  the  probable  date, 
and  believes  that  in  doing  so,  he  is,  "  if  anything,  putting  it 
too  late."  In  the  short  account  given  of  the  poem  in  the 
present  work  I  refrained  from  expressing  a  definite  opinion 
on  the  subject,  but  the  place  in  which  the  Song  is  spoken  of, 
points  to  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century.  Now,  I 
confess  it  seems  rather  probable  that  the  poem  was  com- 
posed at  a  somewhat  later  date,  but  whether  it  ought  to  be 
assigned  to  the  reign  of  Edward  III.  or  of  Richard  IL,  is  a 
question  I  shall,  for  the  present,  not  undertake  to  decide. 


Note  to  page  107. — I  am  happy  to  say  that  the  edition 
of  the  Passiones  Sanctorum  prepared  by  Prof.  Skeat,  for  the 
Early  English  Text  Society,  has  now  begun  to  appear,  the 
first  Part  being  among  the  Society's  publications  for  1881. 


THE   END. 


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